


I Need to Show How Much I Can Come and Go

by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions)



Series: A New Perspective [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Canon Rewrite, Gen, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Missing Scene, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Stiles Stilinski's Name is Mieczysław
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 64,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinginfictions/pseuds/Asterekmess
Summary: In the midst of searching for Erica and Boyd, Stiles has to learn to get along with the rest of Derek's pack, not to mention Derek himself. It's a process.-The third installation in a series of episode-by-episode rewrites of Teen Wolf from Stiles' & Derek's perspectives, including missing scenes, dialogue changes, and minor plot adjustments. A rendition of the missing summer between Seasons 2 and 3A. Canon-Divergent for Season 2, leading up to Season 3.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & The Pack, Isaac Lahey & Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore, Stiles Stilinski & The Pack
Series: A New Perspective [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584292
Comments: 233
Kudos: 171





	1. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome one, welcome all, to the Missing Summer!  
> If you haven't read the previous season rewrites, you really need to because otherwise almost none of this will make sense.  
> If you _have_ read the previous seasons, you have my eternal gratitude!  
> I wanna give a freaking bucket of love to my two betas, [Madeline](https://wizardbuckley.tumblr.com/) and [M](https://stilesissokka.tumblr.com/) for their insanely helpful notes and for getting me through this doc with only minor hair ripping. And another special thanks to Madeline for the _beautiful_ banner she's blessed this fic with. Isn't it pretty?
> 
> I don't want to waste any more of your time here, so Scheduling details will be in the end notes!

Stiles had thought he was finally getting used to going back to school after world-changing nights and pretending nothing had happened, but walking into the building on Monday morning, nursing slowly fading bruises and a scabbed over split lip, he was struck by the normalcy of it all.

There were a couple changes, of course, like the staring Stiles got. He hadn’t considered how weird it must’ve looked from the outside, him going missing right after helping them win the game. No wonder people were confused.

Then there was the melancholy that hovered over the student body despite their championship win. The halls now were solemn and quiet, when the last time the lacrosse team got anywhere near winning championships, there’d been goddamn streamers.

Halfway through first period, Stiles realized the cause of everyone’s subdued attitudes. He leaned over the bar of his chair, careful to keep it from pressing into his ribs, and hissed, “Scott.”

Up at the front of the room, Mr. Curtis kept reading a poem out of the textbook, pausing every few lines to explain the context of certain phrases.

“What, Stiles? I need to pay attention,” Scott muttered back.

Stiles snorted. “Since when? Dude, the whole school thinks Jackson’s dead, still.” He looked around at the somber faces. “Should…should we tell them or something?”

Shrugging, Scott refused to even lift his eyes from his book. “It’s not really our business, man. Now leave me alone, I’m trying to listen.”

“Why are you so hung up on this? You usually sleep through this class.” Stiles slunk down in his chair a bit and poked at his textbook.

“Curtis said if I show ‘dedication’ until school’s out, he’ll change my grade to a C, so _quiet_ ,” Scott hushed.

Flopping his arms against his desk, Stiles quieted and let Scott listen. He even tried listening to Curtis himself, but following along with such a slow reader was nigh impossible and once Stiles had read ahead a few stanzas and jotted down some notes, he gave himself another break to look at the room.

Allison was sitting about as far from them as she could get, tucked into the back corner. She wasn’t just ignoring them, she was outright hiding. Her book was open flat on the desk and she had both hands up against her temples as she stared down at it, her hair falling in curtains of unstyled waves that completely covered the profile of her face.

Stiles didn’t spend too long looking. Just seeing her was making him jumpy.

The minute class was over, Scott gathered up his books and scurried out of the room. Stiles nearly rammed into another kid trying to catch up with him and by the time he made it out the door, Scott was already disappearing around the corner toward the Geometry room.

Stiles leaned against one of the columns of the hall and slapped a hand on his knee, studiously ignoring Allison as she rushed by as well. “What the…” Since when was Scott in a hurry to get to _Harris’_ class?

A flurry of leather dive-bombed Stiles, and his knees went weak for a whole different reason than the aching bruises all over his body. It was a fight not to let disappointment turn into annoyance when Isaac was the one to squeeze him tight and not Erica.

“Hey, you’re back at school.”

Isaac jumped out of the hug as quickly as he’d jumped in, swiping his hands up and down Stiles’ arms the same way Boyd had done before standing at his side against the wall and putting a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. “Derek said I have to finish the year. Morrell gave me all my homework and I have two—”

“Woah, woah,” Stiles interrupted, jerking away. “What are you doing? No wolfy powers in public.”

The cool rush that’d seeped from Isaac’s hand into his skin and pulled a little layer of pain from Stiles’ body was nice, but not at the expense of their safety.

“Would you chill?” Isaac reached out and grabbed at Stiles again, this time holding him still. “Nobody can see anything this way. The smell of your pain is disgusting.”

He had a point, since Isaac’s hand was pinned between Stiles’ neck and the wall, so Stiles stopped fighting and just pressed into it. “Oh. Right. What were you saying?”

“I have two tests to make up and about a dozen worksheets, just from French class. How the hell am I supposed to get all this done while we look for Erica and Boyd?”

“You let Derek focus on looking for them, and you get your homework done,” Stiles explained. “If you need somewhere to work that isn’t the depot, you can always come to my place.”

“We’re not actually _at_ the depot anymore, Stiles,” Isaac admitted. “It was….compromised, so we left. We haven’t been to the depot since the full moon.”

“What?” Stiles straightened up. “Wait, then where have you guys been staying?”

When Isaac didn’t answer, Stiles groaned. “No, do _not_ tell me Derek’s been making you live in the _house_.”

Isaac shrugged. “He hooked up a shower and got the mini-fridge working. We won’t be there very long. Derek’s taking me to see the place he wants to pick in a couple days. He made promises of hot water and a stove, so I’m excited.”

Stiles gaped at Isaac’s nonchalance. For over a month, Isaac had been living in literal ruins, squatting in abandoned buildings and eating gas station food, and he couldn’t care less. In fact, he looked on the verge of peppy at the thought of having the bare minimum of human comfort. Being a werewolf, being Derek’s _pack_ , meant that much to him.

“And I thought _I_ was codependent,” Stiles muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Isaac blinked at him.

Patting Isaac’s arm, Stiles lifted his shoulder until Isaac’s hand was dislodged. He already felt about a hundred times better. “Nothing, man. If you’re gonna use my room just text me before you head over, okay? Maybe it’ll set a good example for Derek.”

Geometry was just as bizarre as English, with Allison practically curled up in her chair to avoid looking at them and Scott refusing to look away from writing notes. Even Harris was being weird, his sadness tangible in the air. There were no snappish comments or jokes at the students’ expense. He just read out the formulas and gave basic explanations for how to use them, and that was the whole class.

This time, Stiles was ready when the bell rang, and he beat Scott out of the room just in time to grab his arm as he came careening out the door.

“Stiles, I don’t want to be late!” he complained. “Finstock—”

“Finstock’s gonna be at least five minutes late himself and you know it, Scott,” Stiles retorted. “Would you just tell me what the hell is going on with you? Since when are you Ultra Nerd?”

Scott scowled, but tucked his thumbs behind his backpack straps and said, “Fine, but can we at least _start_ walking to the room?”

“Jesus, who are you and what have you done to Scott McCall?”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Fine!” Stiles let go of Scott and pointedly took a step in the direction of their Econ class. “Now talk.”

But Scott was watching Allison walk off. Only once she was out of sight did he turn his moon eyes to Stiles. “We broke up.”

Something hard in Stiles made him snort. “Fucking good.”

Scott’s eyes got even wider. “ _What?_ That’s not good!”

“Yes, it is. Or did you forget the whole ‘helped her grandpa kidnap and torture Erica and Boyd and cut Isaac to shreds’ thing? She literally put a knife to my throat right in front of you.”

“What happened to wanting something to go right? I thought you were rooting for us.” Scott was practically pouting, his walk slowed to a crawl.

Stiles pointed down the hall Allison had walked. “That? That is not _right_ , Scott. Her mom died, so she tried to go on a killing spree, starting with our pack.”

“She knows she screwed up, Stiles,” Scott sighed. “She apologized, and I know—.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles interrupted. “What do you mean she apologized? Since when?”

Scott shrugged, “When I took her home afterwards she said she was sorry for everything she did. I told you, she gets that she—”

“That’s such bullshit!” Stiles cried, looking after Allison even though she was long gone. “Are you kidding? She doesn’t get to just tell _you_ she’s sorry and think that it fixed _anything_. Derek, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are the ones she should be apologizing to!”

Puffing up at his words, Scott raised his own voice. “She said she’s sorry, what does it matter that I’m the one she said it to?”

“Because she didn’t do anything to you!” Stiles exploded. “Yeah, she scared you in the station because she told you to get out of her way, but that’s like _it_. Isaac’s the one she shot. Erica and Boyd are the ones she helped Gerard catch and _electrocute_. She doesn’t get to apologize to someone she didn’t do anything to and treat it like a catch-all just because she doesn’t want to feel bad about going on an attempted murder spree.”

“Her mom just died, she was freaking out! You don’t know what—” Scott froze when Stiles met his eye.

He waited. The unspoken warning to tread carefully hung between them. If there was anyone in the world who understood what Allison was going through, losing her mom, it was Stiles.

After a second of tense silence, Scott switched tracks. “Look, we broke up while she figures things out. So, I decided that I’m gonna be the guy she needs. I’m gonna fix my grades so I don’t get held back, and I’m gonna…I don’t know. Read all those books Curtis keeps ranting about. That way, I’ll be ready when we get back together.”

“What, so she turns into Hunter Lite and you embark on a ‘Be a Better Scott McCall’ program? What does any of this have to do with dating?”

Scott sighed and started walking again. “We’re gonna work on ourselves, and then when we get back together, it’ll be awesome. We’ll be unshakeable.”

But Stiles just squinted at him and put out a hand to grab his sleeve. “Scott, dude, she was pissed at you even _before_ her mom died. Did she suddenly get over you freaking out on her at the rave and telling her to date someone else?”

“That stuff doesn’t matter.”

“I _cannot_ believe I’m saying this,” Stiles groaned, “but _yeah_ , it does. That isn’t the kind of stuff you just ignore. Dude, did she say she wanted to get back together later?”

“She knows I’ll wait.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“Stiles, we’re gonna be late.”

Stiles huffed sharply. “ _Fine_ , fucking fine. You just do your thing. Go study or whatever. I’ll be busy making sure she doesn’t try to come after the pack again.”

The short break between classes was actually nearing its end, but Scott didn’t rush off like he’d been trying to do the whole conversation. He actually stopped walking all together and faced Stiles. “You know I’m not in Derek’s pack, right? I heard him tell you at the warehouse.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, shifting from foot to foot. “Don’t worry, I get it. Seriously. But no more fighting with Derek. You don’t know how hard it is to be stuck in the middle of you two.”

Scott’s face screwed up into something weird for a second, then he asked, “Are you and Isaac…”

“Are we what?”

Scott bobbed his head forward and shrugged a little. “You know? I mean, you guys are really, uh, touchy. I mean, it’s cool if you are, even if he’s kind of—”

“Wait, _what_?” Stiles put his hands up. “Woah, woah. You think I’m dating Isaac? Dude, _no_. First off, and you should know this already, I’m not into blonds, not even dirty blonds. Second, I told you, the handsy stuff is a pack thing.”

“Okay,” Scott conceded, but he was still squinting weirdly at Stiles. The bell rang, drilling into Stiles’ skull like it did every day, with an extra touch of flashbacks to the alarms at the station. Scott instantly beat it toward Finstock’s room, grumbling to himself, and Stiles just followed behind him, resigned to being a little more studious for the rest of the year for Scott’s sake.

It was nice though, he realized, sitting in Econ and listening to Finstock compare _another_ economic concept to lacrosse with increasingly far fetched metaphors. It wasn’t for the right reasons, necessarily, but Scott was trying to be better and that could only bring good things. Who was Stiles to stand in the way of self-improvement?

It was also pretty cool to not have to keep the pack secret anymore. Scott hadn’t said a word about Stiles still being in Derek’s pack, even though he himself wasn’t. He wasn’t mad like Stiles thought he would be, and Stiles felt a bit bad about underestimating him so much. Scott was awesome, why had Stiles been so worried?

—

When Jackson showed up the next day, the school went wild. All the lacrosse celebrations were suddenly kickstarted, banners were hung up between classes, and Stiles was roped into wearing his jersey for the day with the rest of the team. Harris had bounced to the other end of the emotional spectrum and was positively chipper, so there were still no insults or random detentions given out.

For all intents and purposes, the world was right again. Except for the part where Boyd and Erica were still missing, and Jackson was acting like his old self. No, not his old self, the self that’d come out right after he’d gotten the bite. That new level of assholery from just before the kanima had shown up.

Stiles couldn’t get within a couple feet of Jackson, surrounded as he was by ecstatic admirers. He met Lydia’s eye across the hall and knew that she’d been shrugged off too.

It didn’t make sense, the complete shift in Jackson’s behavior. He’d been…better. Half decent, at least, while he was at Stiles’ place, and Stiles knew Lydia had spent most of the day before with him while he went to the hospital and got checked out.

Isaac appeared in between classes again to say that Jackson was ignoring him too, but he was at least able to confirm that Jackson smelled like a werewolf and like pack, complete with the annoying urge to get up close and personal with him.

After spending lunch in the library with Scott, keeping him company while he worked through extra credit assignments and whatever papers Curtis was letting him rewrite for half credit, Stiles caught up to Lydia in the gymnasium.

They were in open gym, Finstocks’ gift to the class to celebrate winning the championship, and Lydia headed to the free-weights immediately, grabbing a couple seven pound dumbells and slowly curling them up to her biceps. Stiles copied her with the next size up and absently raised one up as he asked, “Did something happen yesterday while you were at the hospital with him?”

Lydia shook her head, not bothering to ask for clarification. “No, the doctors just did some tests, while we tried to hide the fact that all his needle pricks were healing almost instantaneously. It took _hours_. He got really nervous when some officers showed up to ask him how he got out of the morgue and why he disappeared for the night, but he seemed fine when I left.”

“Derek didn’t mention anything to Isaac either. We have no clue what’s wrong with him.” Stiles sighed and let the weights hang from his hands. “He’s not possessed again, Isaac checked, so what the hell is it now?”

“Stiles,” Lydia said, “you’re thinking about this all wrong. What if it’s not something supernatural? Maybe he just needs a day or two to adjust.”

“But Derek’s supposed to teach him control. We can’t wait until he exposes himself.”

Dropping her weights back onto their shelf, Lydia rounded on him. “There’s no more lacrosse for the rest of the school year, which means no more practices. Right?”

“Right, but—”

“And nothing else has started attacking people in the four days since Gerard died, right?”

“Well, yeah—”

“ _And_ the full moon isn’t for a couple weeks, right?”

“Right,” Stiles sighed.

Lydia poked Stiles’ chest with a manicured finger. “Then you have time to give Jackson space.”

Stiles glared at her for a second, then deflated. “I’ll ask Derek about it. Why are you so protective of Jackson anyway? Are you guys back together?”

“No,” Lydia huffed. “But Jackson was my friend more than he was ever my boyfriend.”

“What do you mean? You’ve been together for years, aren’t you like…in love?”

She laughed a little. “Not really. Not like that. We just—We made sense. We’re the most popular kids in school, dating was just the best way to stay that way.”

“Consolidating power,” Stiles said, nodding. “What, so you never even had sex?”

Scott had told him some of the stuff Lydia had said during that bowling date, and he’d _seen_ her making out with Jackson at the hospital right after Scott separated Jackson’s shoulder.

Lydia just rolled her eyes. “I never said _that_. Have you _seen_ Jackson?”

Stiles gaped a little as she walked away.

At the end of the day, Isaac appeared in front of Stiles’ locker holding up a folder stuffed with worksheets and assignments. With a wave, Stiles ushered him into the back of the Jeep, where he sprawled across the backseat. The whole way to drop Scott off at Deaton’s, he made disgusted sounds at his surroundings and whined about Stiles needing to get the car cleaned.

He completely ignored Scott, who hopped out in front of the vet’s positively scowling, but thankfully saying nothing.

As soon as they pulled away from the building, Isaac clambered into the front seat in a whirlwind of limbs that nearly sent Stiles off the road.

Stiles side-eyed him when he finally settled. “You good?”

“Yeah. What is _with_ Scott and Deaton?”

“What, you mean right now specifically, or just in general?”

Shrugging, Isaac just slumped against Stiles’ side in a position that didn’t look remotely comfortable. It didn’t feel too comfortable either, until Stiles gave up and just threw an arm over Isaac’s shoulder, driving with one hand. “He’s pretty much always idolized the dude. Deaton’s like the one grown-up Scott doesn’t argue with. And now…” Stiles flailed his hand against the steering wheel. “I dunno. I think he’s just imprinted on him even more or something, since Deaton actually knows about wolves. Scott says he’s been teaching him ‘werewolf things.’” He curled two fingers into quotation marks, then used his palm to turn the wheel and pull onto his street, letting the rubber slide against his hand as the car straightened out.

“Like the werewolf things that Derek’s been trying to teach him for ages?” Isaac grumbled.

Parking the Jeep with a sigh, Stiles turned off the engine and just sat for a second. “Come on, can’t we just be happy he’s learning? Scott found a teacher he’s willing to listen to. And besides, I thought all that stuff with Derek was over? The whole thing with Gerard, they worked together and it _worked_. Gerard is dead and gone, and let me tell you, this time I’m definitely not sneaking into the funeral.”

Isaac just grimaced and sat up. “Right.”

An hour into their homework, Isaac was sat on Stiles’ bed a few feet away, but his eyes were boring holes in Stiles’ head.

“What?”

Isaac shot his gaze back down to his worksheet and scribbled something down. “Nothing.”

“Dude,” Stiles turned his chair to face the bed. “What?”

Frowning in discomfort, Isaac put his worksheet down. “I’ve been sharing a bed with Erica and Boyd for weeks.”

The world of werewolves wasn’t one Stiles was fully immersed in, human that he was, so he couldn’t deny that his brain went to some very interesting places in the first second. Quickly shoving those thoughts aside, he put himself in werewolf research mode. “So…you’ve been kinda rolling around in their scents for a while now?”

That got him a nod, but nothing else. Isaac was turning into more and more of a mini-Derek, latching onto his only semi-decent role model and mimicking him right down to the way Derek made Stiles work to know what was going on in his head.

“And…since they’re gone, you’re probably missing them even more than I am,” he continued. He scanned Isaac’s face for any more clues. It popped out easier than he’d expected. “You can’t sleep, can you?”

There weren’t any bags under Isaac’s eyes, since Stiles was pretty sure werewolves couldn’t get sleep deprivation eye bags, but when you stopped looking for human tells, he practically oozed exhaustion. He was swaying, even sitting down, rocking back and forth just a little, probably without knowing it. Looking down, he put a hand on the bed.

“You wanna take a nap or something?” Stiles offered. “I’ll wake you up in time to get your homework done.”

Slowly, Isaac nodded and pushed his homework to the very foot of the bed before sliding up and dropping his head on the pillow. His eyes didn’t close, and Stiles finally made the connection. “Isaac, do you want me to lay down with you, man?”

“Being a werewolf is fucking stupid,” Isaac muttered.

It was one thing for Stiles to find the whole scenting and touching and clinging thing weird. He barely felt echos compared to the way Boyd and Erica had described it. But Isaac was an abused kid whose Alpha was almost completely touch-averse. He was bitten too, so unlike Derek—if Derek was even feeling the same stuff as the rest of them—he still had the entirety of human rules for social interaction conflicting with his instincts. If Stiles was embarrassed for hugging Boyd and Erica every time he saw them at school, or standing too close to Isaac’s side, then Isaac had to be _mortified_.

Stiles was good at just sort of shoving down his own issues with things to make other people feel better. He’d always been the friend who asked the question Scott was embarrassed to ask, or went and ordered his and Heather’s food at the rink because she was the exact opposite of Scott and talking to grownups made her anxious. By himself, he’d usually just go without if he wanted something that it freaked him out to ask for, but for other people, for his people, there wasn’t a lot he _wouldn’t_ do.

So, he absolutely refused to make a big deal out of it. Closing his laptop, he stood up and gathered Isaac’s homework into a pile that he dropped on his chair. After a quick trip to his bookshelf, he went over and nudged Isaac’s side. “This bed is fucking tiny, scoot.”

When Isaac obliged, Stiles toed his shoes off and sat on the bed, shifting to sit up against the headboard. The whole time he moved, Isaac was stiff as a board.

“Dude, it’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with cuddling a friend. Scott and I _totally_ cuddle when I stay over,” Stiles reassured. He wasn’t even lying. It wasn’t the physical touch that bothered Stiles, just the unfamiliarity of Isaac. “Just get comfortable, take a nap, and I’ll wake you up in a bit.”

Sighing, Isaac shifted onto his side and resolutely mashed his forehead into Stiles’ bruised ribcage while wrapping an arm over his waist and squeezing him tight enough to ache. “Shut up,” he mumbled, but at least he relaxed.

Stiles lifted the book in his hand, even though Isaac’s eyes were closed. “Yeah, well the mushy pack talk is payback for you making me need to read the _Artemis Fowl_ books again. I haven’t touched these in years, you butthead, then you started stealing them and I had to crack them open just to keep myself sane.”

“Clearly, it didn’t work,” Isaac retorted.

He was asleep in minutes, leaving Stiles with a very clingy seatbelt and sweating only on his right side. They weren’t even under any blankets, Isaac was just a heater. Fucking werewolves.

His phone buzzed in his pocket half an hour later, and Stiles had to inch his fingers into his jeans in order to keep from jostling Isaac. He managed to slip his phone out without Isaac so much as twitching and clicked through to his messages.

**Peter Pan: Why isn’t Isaac answering his phone?**

_That’d b bc he’s asleep._

**Peter Pan: You got him to sleep?**

_Yes? It wasn’t hard. He just needed sm pack cuddles apparently. Out like a lite in abt 10 sec._

**Peter Pan: Can he stay with you tonight? He needs the rest.**

_U wnt him here? W/me?_

**Peter Pan: Yes.**

_Uhhh, ok. Sure. Do u need 2 come c him or smthng? Shld I bring him back 2 urs in the morning? I’ve never bbsat b4, how does this work?_

**Peter Pan: You’re not babysitting, Stiles. You’re letting pack stay with you. He’s 16, just ask him.**

_Fine, but I’m calling u if he has a tantrum._

**Peter Pan: Fine.**

Snorting down at his phone, Stiles set it gently on his nightstand and went back to reading about the most batshit dwarves he’d ever seen.

* * *

Without needing to worry about getting Isaac to bed at a decent time, Derek ran through the Preserve until he was ready to drop. Searching for scents at this point was almost useless, but there might still be signs of disturbance or a trail he could follow. It was his only lead. He knew the land like the back of his hand, every running path and animal trail, but that only meant that he knew just how massive it was. It would take weeks to search the whole thing properly, even with Peter taking part of the load.

Not that Derek _wanted_ Peter’s help. If Derek had his way, Peter would be staying as far away from the pack as possible. But then, if Derek had his way, Erica and Boyd wouldn’t currently be hostages to a pack of murderous Alphas. He didn’t have the freedom to turn Peter down.

But he still had more freedom than he’d had since his arrival in Beacon Hills. For the first time, he could actually go in public without fearing for his life. Neither cop nor hunter was on his or Isaac’s tail, which meant they didn’t have to live in hiding anymore, and it was time to finally leave the ruins of his childhood home.

Derek didn’t want a house. He barely knew how to live in one. He’d done his fair share of chores in high school, but for the last six years he’d been living in tiny apartments with Laura so they could keep a low profile. There was no porch or garden to worry about, no mortgages or homeowners associations to contend with. Talk of interest rates made his head hurt. The only house he wanted to be in was his own, but with that unavailable, he had to find _somewhere_ for Isaac to actually live.

A proper apartment was also out of the question. He and Laura had been in control, able to keep quiet and avoid catching anyone’s attention even while sharing thin walls with strangers. It’d been uncomfortable, but they’d done it. Isaac wasn’t remotely ready to spend a full moon with neighbors, and Derek didn’t want him to have to.

Being around humans was stifling and weird. Even just getting the mail or doing laundry in an apartment building usually involved bumping into at least one of them. In public, everything had to be reigned in and suppressed to keep people from noticing there was someone not quite human in their midst.

Not that they ever knew _what_ he was. Humans were blind as bats when it came to recognizing the supernatural. But their instincts still worked, telling them _something_ was off. It was half the reason he could barely get through a grocery trip without getting the cops called on him. The other half was what Laura liked to call his “perpetual bitchface.”

Isaac didn’t deserve to spend all day trying to stay under the radar at school, just to have to do the same thing afterwards in his own home. Derek had never gotten used to it himself, and since he finally had the option to _not_ put himself in that position, he refused.

He’d found the perfect middle ground on accident during the brief period of calm before the rave, seeing a battered “For Sale” sign on the outside of a dusty, dark building in the industrial district on his way to pick Isaac up. Curious, he’d gone back the next day.

Most of the buildings in the area were just condemned warehouses, but this one looked like some kind of complex. The door was unlocked when he twisted it, so Derek just walked in, finding a small lobby with a wall of dull brass mailboxes.

It was an apartment complex as far as he could tell, filthy and full of cobwebs, but structurally sound. It seemed to have been abandoned not because of damage, but just because there weren’t enough people to live in it anymore. The bottom two floors had semi-normal looking apartments, the kind that he’d lived in in New York, and there were a couple more basement spaces that felt like standing in a cave, but when he ventured up a couple flights of rickety metal stairs, he found the top floor of lofts. Each of them had a big, metal, rolling door. Heavy and sturdy, if not very attractive.

To the far right was a loft with windows up to the ceiling in the main room. The walls were heavy concrete and brick, with exposed concrete beams throughout the room and a whole section of brick smashed away as though it was about to go through a renovation when the owners left. Vestiges of counters and a disused stove sat in the corner next to the hole in the wall, making a pathetic little kitchen area, and a doorway off to the left of the front entrance led to a small bathroom.

Walking slowly into the room, Derek rolled his shoulders and looked up at the high ceiling. There was a spiral staircase at the back, leading up to another floor that, after investigation, yielded another bathroom and two bedrooms.

The whole place was dirty and worn and probably a death trap for anyone capable of getting tetanus.

Derek wanted it.

It took five calls total to find out that the building was still for sale by a distressed sounding owner who was desperate to get rid of it, and that Derek could easily afford to buy it. The only hitch in the plan was suddenly being stuck in the depot for weeks with his three Betas.

Now that he was a free man, Derek went right back to the loft to look it over again, this time with Isaac on his heels.

As the second youngest of four children, Derek was used to sharing his space and his property. Even after the fire, he and Laura still shared everything from a laptop to gloves and hats. His first instinct when buying food was to get enough for a small army, which’d made feeding all three Betas practically a relief, since nothing went to waste.

But the feeling he got when thinking about introducing Isaac to the loft, seeing if he liked it anywhere near as much as Derek did, vibrated differently in his chest. It was less like having a sibling and more like being a parent, if he had to guess. He knew he had the last say, and even if Isaac didn’t want to, Derek could still make him live there. Was that what Laura had felt like, whenever she’d had him look at apartment listings with her? Like she was giving him a choice, knowing it wasn’t really much of a choice? Isaac was the same age Cora would have been, a six year difference: he shouldn’t have felt so much like Derek’s actual kid.

But he did.

All the worry was for nothing, since Isaac lit up like a Christmas tree the minute he walked in the building. As Derek had suspected, Isaac’s eyes instantly went to the high ceilings and the big window filling the back wall. The big space made Isaac feel free, while the thick walls and isolation made Derek feel safe.

“Can you seriously buy the whole building?” Isaac asked.

“It’s better if I do,” Derek explained, wandering over to the sad little kitchenette. “Then no landlord, no neighbors. We’d probably be the only people on this side of town.”

Isaac nodded, poking at one of the beams. He put a hand on it and walked in a circle, swinging slightly and hanging from its side. “Yeah, but you said buy, like…like _buy_ it. Outright.”

Derek twisted his mouth a little, trying to keep from scowling. “I’m _not_ paying a mortgage.”

“Woah, what happened over here?” Isaac rushed over to join Derek, reaching out to touch the bricks around the edge of the massive hole in the wall.

“It looks like they were trying to renovate, move the kitchen in here. I can finish the job myself. We wouldn’t need to hire contractors.”

“Do you even know anything about home renovation?”

Derek shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. Go pick a bedroom.”

* * *

“It’s been a week,” Stiles pointed out. “Actually, it’s been ten days.”

“So?” Lydia sighed.

“S _oo_ , I think that’s plenty of space. A downright generous amount.”

“And?”

“ _And_ Jackson needs to fucking talk to us now. Or at least listen when _we_ talk.”

Lydia stabbed at her lasagna, eyeing Stiles and Isaac next to him. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

Stiles spread his fingers around the corners of his lunch tray. “I want you to arrange a meeting with him.”

“This isn’t _The Godfather_ , Stiles.”

“No, but maybe if you’re the one asking to see him, he’ll stopping _running away_ ,” Stiles retorted.

It was becoming a near daily occurrence. Stiles shared every class with Jackson except gym, and while Stiles _had_ been trying to give Jackson space, every time he got close, accident or not, Jackson found a reason to bolt. Harris was always indulgent of Jackson, so he barely had to raise a hand before being excused, and Finstock just thought he had a bug.

Stiles leaned forward, elbow bumping Isaac where he was ignoring them both and eating his own lunch. “Just tell him you wanna talk to him and we’ll show up instead. Or too. I mean, if you want to stay you can. You know, I could probably talk to Derek—”

“Don’t even _start_ ,” Lydia hissed. “I might be willing to help you out once in a while, and since my options for friends have dwindled to about zero, I’ll hang out with you and your little entourage. But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to follow Derek around begging for treats. I’m not joining his pack.”

“She has a point,” Isaac finally said, poking his fork in her direction. “We did kind of try to kill her.” He shot her an insincere smile. “No offense, by the way.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Plenty taken.”

Eager to keep the peace, Stiles waved his hands around. “Okay, message received, Lydia is a lone wolf. But Jackson needs to _not_ be, if you wanna sleep soundly on the next full moon.”

“Excuse me?”

“I told you about Scott, remember? He went looking for Allison every time he turned for like two months. You guys might not be dating, but Jackson’s still closer to you than anyone else in the world, so who do you think he’s gonna run to on the full moon if we’re not around to either teach him control or lock him up?” Stiles shrugged apologetically. “I know that sounds like a threat, but it’s not.”

Pushing her tray to the side, Lydia folded her hands together and looked Stiles dead in the eye. “Did you ever think maybe _that’s_ why Jackson doesn’t want to talk to you? All you guys care about is making him keep the secret and chaining him up on the full moon. And, need I remind you, you’ve all been trying to kill him too, for _ages_?” She pointed at Stiles and turned to Isaac. “Stiles is his only frame of reference for someone actually becoming part of your pack, and Derek put him through the wringer. None of these are good reasons to want to talk to you.”

Isaac sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, well, he tried to kill us too. Pretty sure we’re even. Besides, Derek says we don’t have to like pack, we just have to accept them, so that’s as good as he’s gonna get right now.”

“Baby steps,” Stiles said to Lydia. “Would you just help us get in the same room as him?”

The meeting was in the choir room, the same one that Lydia had dragged Stiles to so he could explain the supernatural to her. Admittedly, it was a nice change of pace from the smelly locker rooms. They set it up as a sort of ambush, with Isaac at one exit and Stiles at the other so that Jackson couldn’t leave.

When they came in their respective doors, Jackson was already chewing Lydia out.

“You’re kidding me, right? What the hell are you doing?” he hissed.

Lydia crossed her arms. “Would you just get it over with and stop whining?” She turned to Stiles. “I’m done doing you favors, Stiles. Friend or not, you’re wracking up a lot of them.” Stomping as primly as she could in heels, Lydia turned and left out Isaac’s door.

Stiles watched her go, groaning once she’d disappeared. “I don’t even wanna know what she’s gonna make me do to even us out.”

“What do you want?” Jackson asked, gaze snapping between the two of them.

“I wanna actually talk you, for one thing,” Isaac sniped, “but you’ve been fucking ignoring me for a week.”

Snorting, Jackson dropped into a chair and spread out, stretching his legs and crossing his arms. “What am I, your boyfriend?”

“No, you’re _pack_. That’s supposed to trump your dumb social status, jackass.”

“And who says I still want to be?”

Stiles groaned again and kicked Jackson’s legs out of the way so he could grab his own chair to sit backwards on. “Jackson,” he said calmly, “you absolute fuckwit. _You_ say you still want to be pack, or the bond wouldn’t _be_ there. Frankly, I don’t see what your issue is. You were all for this when we talked at my place.”

“Yeah, well, I can change my mind, alright?”

Isaac pulled over one more chair to complete their little triangle, cocking his jaw like he wished he had something to chew on. “Yeah, you can. Of course you can.” He leaned into Jackson’s space and grinned a little meanly. “But you don’t _want_ to.”

Never one to be intimidated, Jackson didn’t back off from Isaac. Instead, he leaned forward as well until there was barely an inch between their foreheads. “You don’t know what I want.”

“You want the same thing the rest of us do. You want to be Derek’s Beta, to be our pack. There’s no point in lying about it, cus’ I can feel it.” Isaac hissed. “You can’t _hide_ this from me, or from Derek for that matter. If you didn’t want to be pack you wouldn’t _be_ pack. Just like if Derek didn’t want you in the pack, then you just _wouldn’t_ be. This isn’t as complicated as you’re making it.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, just watched from his chair. There was some stuff he just didn’t get, as a human. The bond was so much more real for Isaac, a tangible thing that he’d started referring to just like Derek had, as a rope or a cord between him and the others.

Startling Jackson, Isaac reached out and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling their foreheads together. “We _want_ you, dumbass. Stop fighting it.”

The same way he’d done in the van after Stiles’ outburst, Jackson just sort of deflated. When he pulled back, Isaac let go, and he settled into his seat again with a small huff. “What is this ‘bond’ thing you keep talking about?”

“Tell you what,” Stiles said, hopping back into the conversation. “We’ll explain everything _if_ you come to Derek and Isaac’s place today.”

“I’m not going back to that nasty bunker.”

Isaac snorted. “You don’t have to. We got an apartment.”

* * *

Buying the building the loft was in was only part of the process, as Derek was disgusted to find out. Then there was paying someone to come out and confirm that it was structurally sound, letting a stranger wander around the apartments and lofts until he was satisfied that the building was safe, if filthy and in need of repair. Then Derek had to set up the utilities so there was actual water and lighting. So much red tape just to live somewhere he could actually get mail.

Derek had it all done in a little over a week, since he didn’t have a job to keep him from scheduling things in the middle of the day. There was more to do; the kitchen was still unusable and every faucet, door, and appliance needed replaced. But it was already safer and more secure than any of the other places Derek had been living with Isaac, so he moved them in anyway, once he’d scrubbed it down.

As he chucked Isaac’s bag into the room he’d picked out, Derek’s phone buzzed.

**Isaac: Mission accomplished, Jackass is coming today…**

_Good_. _Do you need a ride?_

**Isaac: Nope…**

_Stop ending your texts with ellipses. You look passive aggressive._

**Isaac: I am tho…**

_No, you’re not. You’re actively aggressive._

**Isaac: Fuck you too???**

_Case in point._

Not twenty minutes after school got out, someone knocked on the front door. Behind the metal, Derek could hear Stiles and Isaac just standing there, even though the door wasn’t locked. He stood up from his crouch and dropped the brick he’d been examining, brushing his hand off on his thigh.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Just come inside.”

Neither of them moved to open the door, so Derek sighed and went over to it himself. He lifted the latch and pulled to open it. “What—”

A bunch of leaves hit him in the face, nearly jabbing his eye before he closed them. Reaching out, Derek took the pot being held toward him and glared around it. “What is this?”

Stiles snorted. “It’s a housewarming gift, duh. Isaac got one too.”

Isaac nodded, holding up a small cactus in a pot.

“He gets a cactus, and I get a Pothos plant?”

“Is that what it’s called? I just sort of grabbed it.” Stiles put an arm on Isaac’s shoulder and used him as a prop to lean against. “I figured Isaac should get something he can’t kill. But you lived in the woods, so you should get something more high maintenance. Something that looks ugly if you don’t take care of it.”

Turning away, Derek walked into the loft and put the pot on the floor near where he’d been reading. There wasn’t exactly any other furniture to set it on. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to kill a Pothos plant? They’re literally advertised for people with black thumbs. Besides, this isn’t a housewarming party.”

“Uh, yeah it is.” Stiles had followed him in and was looking around eagerly. “You just moved in, now your friends are coming over and bringing plants. Housewarming party. Or, is it denwarming? ”

“You’re not my friend, you’re pack. There’s a difference,” Derek pointed out, ignoring the last comment.

Stiles put a hand on his heart. “Ouch, dude. That cuts deep.”

The skip of Stiles’ heart made the lie clear, but Isaac still glared. Rolling his eyes, Derek dropped back down to the floor, sitting properly this time. “He’s pack, that doesn’t mean I have to be nice to him.”

Surprisingly, Stiles snorted a laugh. “Dude, you couldn’t be decent to me when you were bleeding out in my car. If you _were_ nice, I’d worry.”

Derek pointedly ignored him and picked his book back up. When Stiles’ shadow fell over him, he ignored that too, along with the sliver of Stiles’ forehead that he could see over his book when Stiles crouched in front of him.

“ _The Book of Home How-To_? What are you doing?”

Not looking away from his page, Derek waved a hand at the pile of bricks.

“Wait, you’re _teaching yourself_ how to renovate the loft? With actual books?”

“What else would I use?”

“Uh, have you heard of Youtube? Or like, the internet in general? Exactly what century do you live in?”

It was like having Peter in the room. “Don’t you have things to do?”

Abruptly, Stiles bounced back up to his feet. “Hell yeah. Isaac, show me your new room. I need to know whether to judge you or envy you.”

As their footsteps headed for stairs, Stiles voice lowered conspiratorially, though he had to know Derek could still hear him. “ _So, what name did you pick out?_ ”

“ _What the hell are you talking about?_ ” Isaac asked, the ting of the metal steps layering over his words.

“ _For the cactus!_ ”

“ _Tell me you’re joking._ ”

“ _Names are important, Isaac._ ”

“ _I’m not naming my—what the fuck?_ ”

“ _Derek!_ ” Stiles shouted.

Sighing, Derek just flipped his book closed. It wasn’t like he was getting any reading done. Climbing to his feet, he headed over to the stairwell, absently noting that the metal railing needed refinished.“What?”

“ _What’d you do to my walls?_ ” Isaac called back, much calmer than Stiles.

“I ripped the old drywall out.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“So, the next time Stiles does that I don’t have to hear it.”

There was an indignant, “ _Hey!_ ”

As he looked up, Isaac’s face appeared next to the railing. “Is it that soundproofing thing you mentioned?”

“I’m picking up the material tomorrow. Can you stand it for a night or two until I get it finished?”

“Can I pick the color it gets painted?”

“Obviously.”

“Then yeah. I’m good.”

Derek nodded and walked away again. Soundproofing Isaac’s room was just one of the fixes he planned to make. It would be nice, actually, to have something to focus on when he couldn’t be searching, or when Isaac was home. Derek didn’t like leaving Isaac alone, so unless Isaac either went with him or went to Stiles’, Derek was stuck. At least now he was stuck with something to do.

They were all waiting, he knew, but after an hour with no Jackson, Derek was ready to leave Stiles with Isaac and go for a run through his next section of the Preserve. Then, Stiles came padding down the stairs, frowning at his phone. Though he wasn’t paying any attention to where he was going, Stiles didn’t so much as stumble down the steps.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked.

The moment Stiles looked up and around himself, he tripped on the last step down from the stairs. Arms pinwheeling, he took a second to get steady, then held up his phone. “Jackson’s outside. He said he needs ‘proof’ that I’m in here and it’s not just you.”

Derek grimaced. “Great.”

“What?”

“The last time I had Jackson meet me somewhere abandoned, I may have threatened his life to get him to shut up about werewolves.”

Slowly, Stiles nodded. “Ah, so he’s gonna use me as a human shield. Got it.” He shrugged. “Be right back, if your damn stairs don’t kill me. Why’d you pick the third floor?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be an athlete?” Derek called to his back as the door rolled shut.

Stiles’ mocking was still audible on his way down the hall.

He returned with Jackson, who looked decently calm right up until he caught sight of Derek.

This was going to be fun.

“Glad you could make it.”

“I’m here so Stilinski and Isaac tell me what I want to know.” Still, Jackson looked around the loft with curiosity, stepping over to gaze out the window. “Shit place, decent view.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” Stiles pointed out. It was a little harsher than Derek was expecting, considering how careful Stiles had been about Jackson lately, wanting to give him space and wait until he was adjusted before approaching him about pack things.

Having Jackson as a Beta was undoubtedly uncomfortable. Derek had not only thrown him in a river and forced a paralytic down his throat, but he’d also put his hand through Jackson’s stomach and tried to kill him. A lot.

In return, Jackson had paralyzed him three times, beat the shit out of him, Isaac, and Erica, and nearly killed Stiles.

But that didn’t mean Derek didn’t _want_ Jackson as a Beta. All worries about strengthening his pack aside, Jackson needed pack just as much as Boyd did. More, actually, since Boyd hadn’t turned into a kanima over it. Besides, the fact was that Jackson was a werewolf who needed control, and Derek could give it to him. End of story.

So, he sucked up the urge to just snarl Jackson out of the apartment and leaned against a beam, projecting nonchalance, if not actual friendliness. “What is it you want to know?”

“As if that’s any of your business,” Jackson sniped.

Having followed him across the room, whether out of worry or suspicion, Stiles backhanded Jackson’s arm. “Would you knock it off?” he snapped. Again, sharper than Derek was expecting.

Jackson rounded on him, instantly hostile, and the tension in the room went thick. “Stilinski, if you don’t stop touching me, I’m gonna pummel you into the ground. Got it?”

Straightening, Derek took a step forward to break them up. Isaac had told him that Stiles and Jackson didn’t get along, but what the hell was this?

Stiles sneered right back at him, not an ounce of fear in his scent despite the faint bruises Derek could still smell on his body. “Bring it on, Whittemore. Werewolf or not, I will kick your ass if you don’t stop calling me—”

“Hey, what the fuck?” Isaac appeared on the steps, jumping over the last couple to land on the ground. “This isn’t the field, put your sticks away.” He put a hand on Jackson’s chest and shoved until Jackson backed up. “Rule number one; we don’t hurt humans.”

Derek’s chest wanted to puff up with pride at Isaac’s calm demeanor, but he was busy squinting at Stiles. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What?” Stiles asked, still side-eyeing Jackson. “You’re the one that said I don’t have to be nice to him just because he’s pack.”

“That doesn’t mean you provoke a new wolf,” Derek scolded. “Not if you want to keep your limbs. You’d think ‘Werewolf Yoda’ would know that.”

But Stiles looked unbothered by the possibility of Jackson losing control and attacking him. It was like when Isaac and Scott had been forced to share a building at the vet’s, only Stiles wouldn’t heal if Jackson lost his temper.

Making a note to keep them on opposite sides of the room, Derek turned his attention back to Jackson.

He was still glaring at Stiles, snarling roughly when Stiles flipped him off.

“Jackson,” Derek said. “Look at me.”

Jerkily, Jackson turned to face him with bright blue eyes. And that…that hurt.

“Ask your questions, Jackson, and I’ll answer them.”

Immediately, Jackson’s eyes melted down to a much more human blue. “I’ve _seen_ Scott on the field. I know his asthma is gone. And Erica turned into a bombshell after she got the bite, so I’m guessing she’s not having seizures anymore. They got fixed when they got the bite, so why didn’t I?” Jackson set his jaw and stared Derek down, like he thought he’d have to fight to get a response.

Derek just shook his head. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, fixed?”

From where he’d dropped onto the steps and pulled out his phone, Stiles scoffed. “Holy shit. Is _that_ why you’ve been so pissy? The bite didn’t cure your dyslexia?”

Jackson growled again at that, but was knocked out of it by Isaac grabbing his arm and gaping at him. “You’re dyslexic? Since when?”

“Since forever, dipshit,” Jackson snapped. “That’s kind of how it works.”

“But it hasn’t gone away?” Derek interrupted, before Jackson could go off on anyone else. “Since the bite, you’re still having…issues?” It was the only way he could think to phrase it, since he didn’t actually know what Dyslexia was besides getting letters mixed up.

Jackson shrugged. “Yeah, it’s the same as usual.”

“Hey, Jackass,” Stiles said, “spell ‘sulfuric acid.’”

Derek had to grab the back of Jackson’s jacket to hold him back, snarling at him to make him calm down, then growling at Stiles. “That’s it.” He pointed. “Out, we need to talk.”

Snapping his human teeth in Jackson’s direction, Stiles practically sauntered out of the apartment.

“Just, talk to him or something, calm him down. I’ll be back in a minute,” Derek told Isaac, pushing Jackson in his direction before following Stiles’ scent.

It led him all the way down to the ground floor and out the front of the building, way out of earshot of the others, since Stiles probably didn’t know how far he needed to go. He was leaning back against the wall, blowing out a breath and rubbing the heel of his hand against his temple. He jerked up straight when Derek let the door close behind him. All the annoyance and fury was gone, replaced by anxiety and embarrassment. How had he completely changed moods in the time it took to go down two flights of stairs?

“Hey.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, lots of things, take your pick.” Stiles looked up at the sky. “God, he’s just so fucking aggravating.”

Derek crossed his arms and snorted. “He wasn’t _actually_ doing that much.”

“He doesn’t have to!” Stiles burst. “Why’d it have to be him? The one person that I would happily kick off a cliff is suddenly this damsel in distress, while also being the big bad, and now he’s in my pack. Why him?”

“I didn’t get a choice, Stiles. He—”

“Yeah, I know, he just showed up and you couldn’t say no. I get that, seriously. I just—” Stiles spun and kicked at the concrete wall, growling a little, human yet vicious. “It’s one thing when he _needs_ something, you know? Like, he’s pack, I get it, I’ll help. It’s not even hard to be nice. But the minute he’s not in danger or something, I wanna beat the snot out of him! He’s just such a _douchebag_.”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, but so is Isaac, and you put up with him just fine.”

Stiles scoffed. “No, Isaac’s a dick. It’s different. And for the record, you’re an ass. It’s a scale I’ve been carefully cultivating since I learned the word butthead.” He planted both hands on the wall and leaned on them, looking down at the gravel. “Dude, I just…Ugh, I just don’t wanna mess this up, okay?”

There was still enough space between them that Derek felt comfortable stepping forward a bit. “Why do you think _you’re_ going to mess up Jackson joining the pack?”

If anyone was going to screw this up, it would probably be Derek. It was starting to be a routine, now that he’d already scared off Erica, Boyd, and Isaac once, and outright chased Stiles out of the depot.

“Cus’ I fucking hate the guy,” Stiles admitted to the wall. “He’s been tormenting me since the fifth grade and now I’m supposed to _care_ about him and that’s just _bullshit_. But if I fuck up, I’ll scare him out of the pack altogether. Or, hell, what if he becomes the kanima again because I held a grudge?”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that!” Stiles finally looked over at Derek, eyes wide and angry. “I could reverse _everything_ we did and get people killed, just because I have like _zero_ emotional control.”

Grimacing, Derek stepped up and pushed Stiles to stand on his own, his right hand on Stiles’ right shoulder, even though it was uncomfortable. He was absolutely shit at these situations, but he knew that touch was important, whether he liked it or not. “I don’t know what happened with you two, and frankly, I don’t care. But you’re not gonna be the one who scares Jackson away. He yelled at me for not letting you in, remember? Douchebag or not, he’s clearly fine with having you in the pack, so just…get over it and try again.”

Stiles looked at him balefully and jerked back until Derek’s hand was dislodged. “Get over it and try again? That’s your advice? The great Alpha wisdom you’ve decided to bestow upon me is to ‘get over it and try again?’”

Derek shrugged and pulled his hand back to the safety and comfort of his pocket. “I never said you couldn’t be pissed at him. Be pissed, then get over it and try again.”

He left Stiles standing there and headed back upstairs to deal with his next problem.

The loft was bare except for their mattresses, Isaac’s in his room and Derek’s down in the corner. Without a place to sit, Derek entered the loft to find Isaac and Jackson sitting across from each other on the floor, legs stretched to keep the most distance between them, while still letting their feet touch.

“What’d you do to him?” Jackson asked, frowning at the door.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “I talked to him. He’ll be back eventually.”

Jackson looked at Isaac, who shrugged, then back at Derek. “So, since when is that Peter guy still alive?”

“Since the last full moon.”

“But he was,” Jackson swallowed, “He burnt to a crisp, even before you slashed his throat. Stilinski and I doused him with Molotovs.”

Derek hadn’t known that. He remembered seeing Peter on fire, smelling chemicals in the air, but not what’d started the flames.

Isaac sat up and crossed his legs, pulling away from Jackson to stare at Derek. “ _That’s_ how Peter died?”

“So, he _did_ die?” Jackson confirmed. “But now he’s…back?”

“Yes,” Derek said simply. “Next question.”

For a second, Jackson’s eyes shot to the door, then over to Isaac again, before he pulled one knee up and wrapped an arm around it. “What’s the point of you?” Before Derek could respond, he elaborated by waving his free hand in Derek’s direction. “The whole Alpha thing. What’s the point? Stilinski said you need a pack to not be nuts, but why would we need you? What do we get out of it?”

“Well, for one thing, you get to be stronger, faster, heal quicker, and your senses are more heightened than an Omega’s. I’m not the only one who becomes more powerful from having a pack. The bigger the better.” Derek dropped down into a crouch, then shifted to one knee. “For another, a pack literally can’t exist without an Alpha. You can get all the Betas together you want, but without an Alpha, the bond won’t form.”

“What bond?”

“It’s what connects you to us. How we know you’re pack. You should be able to feel them.”

“Them?”

Derek nodded. “You have one with every member, not just me.”

“It’s like a tugging in your stomach,” Isaac added. “Erica said it’s kind of like just before her cramps started? Boyd said it’s like being hungry in a weird way, except you’re craving people instead of junk food. When we’re away from pack for too long it kind of buzzes under your skin to make you want to go find them or see them.”

Jackson put a hand on his stomach and looked down. “Okay, but I’ve been feeling like that even when I’m with you guys. Even when Stilinski was here. So why isn’t it going away? I thought I had food poisoning or something.”

Isaac picked at his nails. “That’s because Erica and Boyd aren’t here.”

“Where are they then? Stilinski said you guys had to find them, but where did they go?”

“They were taken by an Alpha pack.” Isaac said. “We’re still trying to find them.”

“Wait, wait,” Jackson dropped his knee. “An Alpha _pack_? How the fuck does that even work?”

Sighing, Derek rolled his shoulders. “It’s not supposed to.”

He stopped at the clatter of footsteps outside the door. He’d left it open, and after a few seconds, Stiles appeared, silent but for the tapping of his fingers on his sides. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the room toward Jackson and stood next to him, looking down at his upturned face.

“I hate you,” he said, no hint of a lie in his heart. Then, he collapsed neatly into crossed legs and scooted right up next to Jackson to press their sides together. Like he’d done with Isaac earlier, he lifted an arm and propped it on Jackson’s shoulder.

The room was silent as Jackson looked over at Stiles with furrowed brows and his mouth half open as though he was about to start shouting. He looked down at Stiles’ arm and his face twisted up even more angrily. Then, he stopped and growled before just turning back to Derek, leaving Stiles to lean on him.

“What do you mean it’s not supposed to?” he asked roughly.

Derek assumed Stiles would be capable of catching himself up, so he didn’t re-explain anything, just moved on. “I mean that it’s not supposed to _happen_. Technically, it’s possible for Alphas to bond with each other, but it’s incredibly rare, and it usually means two packs are merging into one that has an Alpha pair.”

“That’s not what this is?”

“No. It’s at least four Alphas, maybe more, that made their own pack, without any Betas.”

Stiles squinted. “If they’re Alphas, what happened to their old packs?”

There wasn’t a tactical way to give the answer, but Derek didn’t have to, because Isaac piped up instead. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

Derek nodded. “It’s our job to _protect_ you. That’s an Alpha’s entire purpose, to take care of their pack. The need to protect and provide is biological. In the natural world, wolf packs are just families. The Alphas are the parents, the Betas are their kids. With us, while the Alpha spark can be held by technically anyone, they’re still _hardwired_ to take care of their pack like flesh and blood. It’s…it’s sacrilege to kill your own Beta, let alone your _entire_ pack. So, yeah, technically it’s possible for Alphas to join up and make their own pack, but the implications of it are so taboo that it isn’t even _considered_. Until it happened.”

“And now they’re here, and they have Erica and Boyd,” Jackson said, quietly seething. He seemed to move without knowing it, putting an arm around Stiles and tugging him closer, ignoring Stiles’ small yelp.

Isaac went over to his other side pushing into his space too. “Hey, we’re gonna find them.”

Jackson just growled again and grabbed at him to pull him into the pile they were creating.

In spite of the situation, and how much his chest hurt from the gaping holes in the room where Boyd and Erica should’ve been, Derek smiled.

That, however much Jackson would try to deny it later, was a pack bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! Did you miss me? I missed you!  
> So, let's get down to business. First and foremost, I wanna warn you that this fic will not be as insanely long as Season 2, and therefore the chapters won't be as long either. This is actually one of the longest. Second, a strong reminder that this _is_ finished. I have written it in its entirety, and am simply posting the chapters one week at a time, because I need to for my sanity. Do not worry about this fic getting abandoned, it's literally not possible unless I died next week (in which case, I'd probably leave a note for my husband or Betas to finish posting it for me. This is my Mona Lisa, after all.) which is highly unlikely as I never leave the house. Thirdly, _yes_ I am working on season 3A right now, but that is a _long road_ ahead of us.
> 
> Writer's Notes:  
> -If you couldn't tell, Gerard is _actually_ dead in this rewrite. I had no interest in bringing him back, so I didn't.  
> -The description of Derek's loft isn't exactly accurate to the show in regards to the kitchen area, but I wanted it to be a Real Apartment (it was filmed in a set of office suites, so...no kitchen) and I made some minor changes.  
> -Look man, I needed to add in some lore about the whole Pack, Alpha, situation thing. It was driving me mad.
> 
> That's all for this week, so if you have any questions or comments, please leave them below! If you like this fic or series, please consider subscribing to them so you get notified when I update!


	2. Settling in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back with another chapter! I gotta say that I'm so damn appreciative of the attention and love you are all giving this. I didn't expect so many people to still be so interested in this series, especially since we're three installments in at this point. Thank you so much!
> 
> General Note: If you're new to this series, I'm not sure any of this installment will make sense, but I do want to point out that I've added the 'Bad Friend Scott McCall' tag. This installment doesn't necessarily meet the usual criteria for that, but it's such an underlying theme/plot thing for this entire series, it felt wrong not to have that tag included. So, please read with caution. If you're not into the anti-scott stuff, this might not be for you.

Stiles was almost surprised to see Scott’s name on his caller ID when he got home from Derek’s. Even though summer hadn’t started yet, Scott had been picking up extra hours with Deaton after classes and spending some serious time with his nose in books.

“What’s up?”

“ _Finally out of work, and I’m craving a burger and fries. Was gonna head to Freddie’s.”_

Letting out a wounded sound, Stiles fell back onto his bed. “Dude, low blow going to Freddie’s without me. What happened to our deal?”

_“Yeah, yeah, Freddie’s is our bro date. Would you just get out here?”_

Immediately, Stiles hopped back up to his feet and rushed to the window. Scott’s mom’s car was parked right in front of his walk, facing the wrong direction on the street so that the driver’s side was up against the curb. The windows were down and after a moment a hand stuck out and waved at him, while Scott’s voice perked up in his ear. _“Dude, this is totally illegal, hurry up before your dad gives me a ticket or something.”_

Stiles whooped on his way back down the stairs. As he raced down the sidewalk, he realized _all_ the windows were down and the car was idling, and took his chance. Rather than opening a door or even going around to the passenger’s side, Stiles just dove through the backseat’s window.

He only made it halfway, his thighs and legs still sticking out into the air, but with his face smashed into the seat, he lifted a hand and yelled, “ _Go go go!”_

Guffawing, Scott pulled away from the curb and continued to laugh the whole time Stiles wriggled the rest of his body into the vehicle. “One of these days your neighbors are gonna call the cops.”

Once he’d gotten everything in, Stiles sat upright and huffed at the rearview mirror where Scott was checking on him. “Who, Mrs. Cleery? She adores me.”

“Not since you pulled up her tulips.”

“I needed those!”

“You made a flower crown with them.”

“It was artistic growth, Scott.”

“Okay, okay,” Scott conceded. “So, Deaton keeps mentioning Caesar for some reason, and I have no clue what he’s talking about, but I _know_ I’ve heard you talk about him before. Do the thing.”

Stiles rubbed his hands together at the mention of one of his favorite historical topics. “You ready?”

“Hit me.”

“So Caesar, first off. He was an absolute adrenaline junky. Did you know he was epileptic?”

Scott glanced at him. “Like Erica?”

Stiles nodded, Scott always understood things better when they were related to everyday life. “Yeah, exactly. Like, _severely_. And even though he was prone to Grand Mal seizures, he once swam across a river rather than waiting to find a more shallow place to cross. A whole river! Complete dumbass. Most books about him are just historians laughing at how ridiculous he was, and it’s just,” he wiped away a fake tear, “beautiful, Scott.”

His impromptu lecture and info-dump continued all the way through getting to Freddie’s and sliding into a booth to order their food, veering off in about eight directions until he’d wound around to talking about the history of trains. Not once did Scott interrupt with anything other than laughter or shock at Stiles’ juiciest tidbits.

The arrival of ambrosia with a side of heaven stopped his tirade only barely. Since the first time they’d walked into Freddie’s as preteens with too much time on their hands and bottomless stomachs, it was his favorite place to dine out with Scott. Like the ice rink and Heather, it was a combo he rarely tried to recreate with anyone else. Maybe it was all the nostalgia that made the slightly burnt burger and over-greased fries in front of him smell and taste so good, but Stiles wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Halfway through a bite, he squinted at the table between them. “Where’s your phone?”

Scott squinted right back. “In my pocket?”

“But you haven’t checked it this entire time.”

Shrugging, Scott took another drink through a straw that he didn’t even need, but always asked for anyway so Stiles didn’t look weird asking too. “Why would I? The clinic’s closed, and since my mom ungrounded me I don’t have to be home for hours.”

“But what about—” Stiles cut himself off and grimaced at the realization in Scott’s eyes. “My bad, nevermind.”

For months, Stiles had been getting used to Scott’s phone never leaving his hand because he needed to see messages from Allison. Whether they were dating or pretending not to date or not talking at all, he’d been glued to the screen just in case she needed him.

Now they were back to normal, and Scott didn’t have a reason to keep his phone out. The actual attention from his friend was nice, so much more like how they used to be, when they would trade off between Stiles’ rants about whatever he’d learned recently and Scott’s elaborate daydreams about becoming an actor, and then a musician, and most recently a lacrosse legend.

But suddenly the same awkwardness that Stiles used to have weighed on him times a hundred. The awkwardness of knowing he was Scott’s best friend…and only friend.

Even before the bite, Stiles had other friends. Not a lot, but he had them. Heather, Harley and Tanner, even Heather’s friend Danielle could hold a conversation with him the few times he saw her. Excluding Heather, these people weren’t close to Stiles. Scott was still his best friend and practically his brother. But it was slightly uncomfortable to know that he was Scott’s entire social circle, especially now that Stiles had the pack. He wouldn’t call any of them his brothers or Erica his sister, but he had a connection to them in a way Scott didn’t.

Then again, Stiles’ connection to Scott was different too. Scott’d been there for things he didn’t even realize, been Stiles’ rock, his grounding person when nothing else was okay. He’d never told Scott about his anxiety attacks while they were common, but it’d been a relief to have someone to go be with afterward who wouldn’t give him the worried eyes that his dad always pinned him with.

In the same way Scott had been talking lately about wanting to be “normal” and trying to pretend there was nothing unusual about him, Stiles had felt that need as a kid.

Scott had never cared that Stiles didn’t have a mom, or that he had a weird name. He usually thought Stiles’ ever-rotating research topics were interesting and commiserated as best he could with Stiles’ bouts of executive dysfunction. Sometimes talking to him on the phone was the only thing that distracted Stiles enough to get him out of bed or excited him enough to get him through the last of his chores so they could hang out.

Besides, Scott never left. It was definitely selfish, and Stiles was well aware of it, but it felt good to have someone who didn’t leave. Who wanted to hang out with Stiles every day and never got tired of being around him. He was a constant in Stiles’ life. Someone who needed Stiles as much as Stiles needed him.

“So, when are we starting lacrosse practice?” Scott asked, oblivious to Stiles’ internal monologue. “I’m gonna need to wow the _crap_ out of Finstock to get him to give me back my co-captain status.”

Stiles chucked a fry at him. “Pick a day, man. You’re the one with a life right now. I’ll work around you.”

* * *

The last thing Derek wanted to do was actually talk to Peter, but Jackson was still demanding an answer to his lack of healing and Derek had no clue what to tell him. As far as he knew, the bite fixed any human imperfection. It’d done it with Erica and with Scott, and even Isaac said his allergies were gone, so what was wrong?

Rather than invite Peter to his loft, Derek met him at the house. The ruins already gave him the creeps, so it seemed like the perfect place to have another chat with his homicidal uncle.

He was already there when Derek arrived, sitting quietly against a tree on the outskirts of the front yard like he’d been there for hours. With his eyes closed and his face calm, he looked almost too much like he used to. His hair was a little longer than before the fire, but nowhere near as long as it’d been while he was an Alpha, and he was wearing the same kind of stupid v-neck Prue used to make fun of him for. He looked like Derek’s uncle, not like the monster who’d murdered Laura.

In an attempt to both announce his arrival and stomp down the excruciating _hope_ that kept flickering in his heart, Derek called out, “You still can’t hear me?”

Peter twitched and opened his eyes. “Apparently not. I’ll admit, the ritual was a little vague about how long my senses would be lessened. It might be awhile before I’m at full strength.”

The ritual. The one he’d forced a sixteen-year-old girl to perform on her _birthday_ after using his memories to haunt her for _weeks_. Right.

“I don’t care,” Derek responded as he came closer.

Standing, Peter dusted himself off. “Of course you don’t. Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

Derek crossed his arms and stopped a few feet away. “Do you know why the bite didn’t cure Jackson’s dyslexia?”

Peter shrugged. “Why should it have?”

“The bite cures human illnesses,” Derek said slowly, squinting at Peter. Peter _knew_ this. “It fixed Scott’s asthma and Erica’s seizures, but—”

“It what?” Peter interrupted. “What do you mean it fixed Erica’s seizures? Erica was epileptic? Was she injured as a child?”

Derek’s understanding of the bite was based on the foundation that it cured human ills. That was why it was such a gift, one his mother believed humans could never be trusted with because they were too greedy. The bite was a cure, plain and simple, yet here Peter stood, frowning as though Derek was trying to lie to him. As though he was wrong.

Peter was the expert on humans. If _he_ was confused...Slowly, Derek’s surety about his knowledge of the bite began to fracture.

“No…she had a brain tumor. It was benign?”

He was just parroting back the words Erica had given him. Human illnesses didn’t make sense to him, but Peter would surely know what it meant.

“And how do you know she was fixed?” Peter demanded. “Just going a long time without a seizure doesn’t mean the human is fixed, Derek.”

Derek frowned. “No, but she said her seizures were happening at least once a week. After the bite, she got better. She was healthy, except for when the kanima sliced her.”

Peter silenced him with a hand up and shook his head. “Derek, let me be perfectly clear. The bite _doesn’t_ cure epilepsy. It doesn’t cure dyslexia. Why would you say Erica is cured if she was still having seizures?”

“Because they stopped!” Derek snapped. “She was fine until the kanima paralyzed her, and after I triggered the healing process she was fine again. No auras, no shakes. She didn’t have another seizure the entire time she was with me. Almost an entire month. She was _cured_.”

“But that can’t happen!” For the first time since the night at the warehouse, Peter stepped into Derek’s personal space, as silent moving over the forest floor as Derek was. “Listen to me. The bite is not a cure to _everything_. Yes, it heals injuries, and it can cure humans of ailments like Scott’s asthma, but the magic that makes us what we are is far more specific than you think.”

Growing out a claw, Peter cut a small slice into the back of his forearm and displayed it to Derek so he could watch the wound slowly close up. “The healing process we experience is the same one that’s triggered when a human is bitten. It doesn’t start working until something is actually _wrong_ with us. We can’t heal from a wound that isn’t there. Asthma in humans is an _illness_. It’s a swelling of the lungs that makes them sensitive to the very air that fills them. There is something there to _fix_ , which is why Scott no longer has asthma.

“Do you know what dyslexia is?” The question came without judgement, and Peter continued before Derek could even tell him no. “It’s a learning disability that makes it difficult for a human to read, write, or even speak. It’s harder for them to make certain connections between sounds and letters in their mind. It’s not an illness or an injury. It’s built into their mind. The bite _can’t_ fix it because there’s nothing _wrong_. It’s the same with Stiles’ ADHD. Should he ever get the bite, his disorder wouldn’t go away because it’s how he’s wired, so to speak. However debilitating the effects of it are on his body, his _mind_ is the cause and our healing process can’t change how a human’s mind works.

“Epilepsy is the same. Unless Erica’s seizures were caused by a previous injury, by actual _damage_ to her body, it shouldn’t be cured. Even a tumor wouldn’t be enough damage to need fixed by the bite because it wasn’t malignant. A benign tumor means that there are just extra cells in her head. The bite would keep it from getting bigger, but it wouldn’t fix that, and if the tumor was the cause of her epilepsy then she should still be having seizures.”

That wasn’t…that was nothing like what his mother had described. Technically, it made sense. It was the same reason he’d wanted to try nicking himself when he was paralyzed, to trigger the healing process. There had to be an actual injury in order to kick his healing into gear. But then…

“She looked healthier because she stopped taking her medication,” Derek breathed. All those side effects he’d seen on the bottle. Of course Erica would be healed from that; the pills were actively hurting her while they worked to repress her seizures, enough for the bite to fix it once she stopped taking them. And the stress relief that probably came from thinking she was cured could’ve lowered her risk in the first place, leading to her remission.

Peter nodded. “Yes, exactly. It might’ve looked like her epilepsy was cured, but it couldn’t have been.”

“Then what happened with the kanima?” Derek pressed. “Peter, she _healed_. I triggered the healing process by breaking her arm and squeezing out the kanima venom, and the seizure stopped.”

He shook his head again. “That doesn’t happen, Derek. That _can’t_ happen. You’re sure it didn’t just stop naturally?”

“Yes, her heart was barely beating and she was still shaking right up until I did it. Stiles would’ve told me if she were getting better before that; he was the one holding her.”

Peter twitched. “Stiles was there?”

“Yes,” Derek repeated, sighing. “He was the one that brought her to me with Scott. He held her up until I was done and then passed out so hard Isaac had to slap him awake. What about it?”

“Nothing.”

“Peter, he may be in the pack, but he’s not going to take the bite.”

Peter flapped his hand and wandered a few feet away, the tension from before replaced by something new that Derek couldn’t quite pick out. “Yes, yes, I know. He was very clear about wanting to stay human. What can I say? He reminds me of…myself.”

With more silent steps, Peter began to cross the clearing in the direction of a trail Derek knew was nearby. He waved a goodbye over his shoulder as he went, but didn’t turn around. “Tell Jackson he’s not going to get better, and give him whatever comfort you’re capable of these days. Call me if you need me again.”

* * *

By the time school actually let out for the year, Scott had managed to convince both Curtis and Finstock to give him a passing grade, which left him with only two F’s on his final report card. Harris was unrepentant, the bastard.

Isaac, however, had the excuse of missing school for “Medical” reasons, so Harris wasn’t able to dock any points on his late work. He passed Chem with a C, and apparently got B’s everywhere else.

Stiles managed to repay Lydia by turning over the newest information that he’d learned about werewolves and watching _The Notebook_ with her, so she was back to hanging out with him. She was the one who told him about Allison leaving the country, texting him halfway through their last day.

He was angry, _incredibly_ angry, at everything Allison had done, at her useless apology to Scott and the complete lack of attempts to even _talk_ to him or Isaac. But his heart still sank at learning that she was going all the way to France. Lydia didn’t know why, but it didn’t really matter, especially once he told Scott, right before their last class.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, Lydia said they’re leaving tomorrow. Apparently, Allison’s been packing up the house for the last two weeks.”

Scott yelped. “Wait, what? Like, _moving_ packing? She’s coming back, right?”

Stiles sighed and shoved the last notebook into his backpack. He wanted to be able to bolt the second school was out and not even _think_ about this stupid building for three months. “Dude, I have no idea, and I couldn’t care a whole lot less. Now, can we talk about the fact that you’re still getting held back? You still have two F’s.”

Blowing out a breath, Scott frowned. “My mom talked to the office about summer classes.”

“Ouch.” Stiles winced. “Hey, how’s that going? With your mom?”

“Oh, fine,” Scott said. “I mean, she’s happy I got my other grades up, so things are good.”

“So, she’s adjusting to the whole ‘werewolf’ thing?” Stiles asked. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and picked up the duffel he’d used to empty his gym locker.

Scott shrugged and followed beside him, his own backpack and duffel in hand. “We haven’t really talked about it, but I guess.”

Stiles gave him a side-eye as they headed to Chem. Why did his most hated class have to be the one thing standing between him and freedom? “You haven’t talked about it? What, did it just slip your mind that you’re a creature of the night?”

“I thought that was vampires? And we’ve been kind of busy trying to fix my grades. It hasn’t come up.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to talk about it for the next three months.”

With a snort, Scott walked into the Chem room and dropped down at their table, tucking his bags between his feet. “Not really. I’m gonna have all the extra classes, remember? And all the practicing I need to do to get back on the team next year. Plus, I’m supposed to work full time with Deaton. He’s helping me find all the books from that reading list Curtis gave me.”

“You’re gonna _find_ time to help us look for Erica and Boyd, though, right?”

Harris wasn’t there yet, but Stiles kept his eyes on the door of the slowly filling classroom, ready to cut himself off as soon as he caught sight of those fucking glasses. He was sure Harris would take _any_ opportunity to give him detention on the last day.

Again, Scott shrugged. “I’m pretty sure Derek doesn’t want me involved, but Deaton said he’s looking, checking some contacts he’s got. I’m sure they’ll find them soon.” He paused, then frowned. “Wait, _you’re_ not involved, are you?”

“Dude, human here,” Stiles whined. “Derek won’t even let me go looking in the Preserve with him _and_ Isaac there to protect me.”

Speak of the Beta and in he walks. Isaac sauntered over and stuck a hand on Stiles’ head. “Tell me someone’s actually told you that you look like a hedgehog with this hair. Or maybe,” he tilted his head to the side, “a moldy peach?”

Stiles reached up and grabbed Isaac’s hand, pulling it down and grasping it so he could tug Isaac into a quick bro hug. He slapped at Isaac’s shoulder. “Shut it, and tell me how it went.”

With a gesture toward the door, Isaac said, “See for yourself.”

In walked Jackson, wearing a scarf that was hideous and probably worth more than Stiles’ life. He came over nonchalantly, as though stopping by Stiles’ table was an accident, and held out a fist.

Smiling and cheering softly, Stiles bumped it with his own. “Hell yeah.”

The fist Jackson was holding out flipped him off with a slightly too sharp finger, and then he left to join a perplexed Danny in the back. With a clap on his shoulder, Isaac scampered off to hop into a chair next to Lydia, where he beamed at her glare.

“What the hell was that?” Scott asked.

“Derek said Jackson wasn’t allowed to touch me without,” he put air quotes up, “‘supervision’ until he learned to control his strength. We were having bruising problems. It’s a batshit stupid rule, but apparently, it worked.”

Scott’s face screwed up in disgust. “Why would Jackson wanna—”

“Don’t for a second get the impression that just because this is the last day of the semester you get to screw off in this class,” Harris lectured as he entered the room. “I may not be able to fail any more of you than I already _have_ , but I can still hand out detentions. Now, let’s get started with today’s experiment, and anyone who tries to slack off can stay behind after class.”

—

Stiles’d worried that coming to the ice rink would just be an upsetting reminder of Boyd’s absence. Which, it was. But it wasn’t as soul-sucking as he’d worried. The cool air coming off the ice was still pleasantly nostalgic, and the sight of Heather waiting in their usual corner of the bleachers with a snowcone in each hand brought a smile to his face that wasn’t remotely forced.

“Hey!” she called, holding one of the paper cups out toward him.

Winding his way around people, Stiles cheered a little as he grabbed the cup. Heather hopped up to her feet and wrapped around him, so Stiles hugged her back, keeping the cup well away from her golden hair. “God, are you planning on getting taller at some point?” he teased. He bumped his chin against the top of her head. “You make me feel like Slenderman.”

“The doctors lied alright?” Heather sighed. “Apparently, I got my mom’s genes instead of my dad’s. After years of promising I’d be at _least_ 5’8”, suddenly they’re warning me I’ll be stuck at 5’5” for the rest of my life.” She smacked his chest as she pulled away. “Now, stop mocking my pain, I bought you sugar.”

Stiles nodded and sat next to her, examining his treat. “You did! This is a milestone for you, I’m impressed.”

For years, Heather had been making him get their concession food so she didn’t have to talk to the underpaid twenty-something behind the counter.

Heather took a bite out of the top of her own bright pink snowcone and nodded. “I’m almost seventeen, I figured it’s time I learn how to buy my own food. Besides, I owe you for bailing over spring break.”

Stiles winced. Spring break was the last time he’d seen Erica and Boyd until he found them in the Argent basement. He’d gotten that one afternoon with them, watching Derek teach them how to use their senses, and that was it. They were gone. Some jacked up werewolves had them prisoner, doing who knew what to them while Stiles was sitting around useless, and Derek was running himself ragged trying to find them.

“Hey,” Heather muttered, pressing into his side. “What’s up?”

Shaking his head, Stiles tried to bring himself out of the sudden funk. “Nothing, I’m—I’m good. So, what’s the plan today?”

“I figure snowcones first, then skating. Lunch, then we hit the arcade,” she suggested.

“So we can avoid the afternoon crowd on the ice,” Stiles said. “I like it.”

They finished their snowcones in a peaceful quiet, occasionally pointing things out to each other, like the little girl being practically carried between her parents in the rink, the tiny skates on her feet just barely brushing the ice. By the time they’d tossed the paper cones in the trash and finally begun slow circuits of the rink, Stiles was feeling upbeat again.

“Danielle’s been trying to convince me to take one of the art classes at the college. I think it’s the same class your mom taught,” Heather mentioned, doing a short spin without losing her place beside him.

It didn’t hurt to hear Heather so casually bring up Stiles’ mom. Heather was probably the only person that it didn’t hurt to talk to about her. He didn’t know what it was, but that barrier of awkwardness and melancholy that kept him from ever bringing Claudia up to his dad or even to Scott, it’d never appeared between him and Heather. Even when he was at his worst after the funeral, Heather’d been a safe space to talk about how much he missed her.

Stiles scoffed, visions of big, messy, painting rooms and easels that were covered in so many splashes of paint he hadn’t been able to tell what color they started off dancing in front of his eyes. “You hate art.”

Heather snorted. “Oh, completely. But I might do it anyway. Moral support, you know?” She shrugged. “They have some writing classes too, I might sign up for one just so I can go with her to the campus. I miss that place.”

For a brief time, Stiles’ mom had babysat Heather. Whenever she was working on a project or doing grading of some kind, she’d bring Stiles and Heather into the classroom and set them up with fingerpaint and scrap canvases. Heather’s had always just turned into her trying to write her name, once she got sick of drawing stick figures.

Time flew as he caught up with Heather’s life, the everyday drama of her high school refreshing compared to his hellish spring semester. Danielle was dating so-and-so, one of the teachers retired and the whole school was forced to throw a goodbye party. The school newspaper she worked on got their budget cut by student council. So many simple things, and no mention of lizards. Beacon River High was still within Beacon Hills’ city limits, but none of their students were suspected of murdering their dad or even related to any of the kanima’s other victims.

Heather seemed just as aware of the difference as Stiles.

“So…did that Matt kid…was he the one you told me about?”

“Yeah. The creepy one. Even moreso than I thought.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Heather nodded and pursed her lips. “And that girl who got attacked at the dance and then went missing in the woods for a few days? That was Lydia? _Your_ Lydia?”

Stiles blinked. At this point, all the bullshit from when Peter was alive—the first time anyway—had just kind of blended together. “Uh, yeah.” Pushing to go a little faster, he added, “And she’s not _mine._ I mean, not like that. We’re friends, but, you know…” He shrugged.

Being friends with Lydia was kind of awesome, even if he wasn’t totally sure how to just…hang out with her. Every time he thought about going over to her place, his brain just turned it into a date situation where he had to have things all planned out to entertain her and make her happy 24/7. It was a work in progress.

Either way, it wasn’t fun to remember that he’d been completely called out by her for his behavior. He’d totally deserved it, but it still stung.

Heather grabbed his wrist and squeezed softly, staring at him. “Are you for real? _The_ Lydia Martin is your actual friend? And you’re fine with that?”

“Yeah, to both. I know, weird right?”

“Try totally bizarre. You’ve had a crush on her since the third grade, what the hell happened?”

The number of people on the ice had been slowly rising while they talked and skated. They’d had to swerve around more than a few little groups of people or single skaters to keep their course, so when another mob of teenagers started climbing onto the ice, Stiles just veered toward the nearest exit. Time for lunch.

He flailed an arm a little, barely avoiding hitting a passerby. “It wasn’t any specific…like, it’s not like I looked at her and suddenly there was nothing there. We just...got stuck together a few times? And she was awesome, it was surreal. And then she told me she wasn’t interested in dating me, but she’d be fine with being friends, and I realized I was totally cool with it. We were actually here, at the time. Sort of a double date for Scott and Allison.”

Heather gasped in faux-fury, her voice the high, breathy register of a damsel in a period movie. “You _cheated_ on me? I can’t believe you would bring someone else to our _spot_.”

A second later, they both started to cackle. Stiles reached out without thinking and brought their foreheads together, much the same way he did with Isaac. “Aw, come on, you know you’re special. Forgive me?”

But Heather just harrumphed comically and looked off to the side to avoid meeting Stiles’ eyes. When Stiles didn’t react immediately, she harrumphed again and crossed her arms, furthuring the picture of dejection.

“I have to buy lunch, don’t I?” Stiles asked.

In answer, Heather grinned at him.

—

In the days leading up to the next full moon, Stiles was on high alert for any issues. They’d yet to have a single full moon that wasn’t some kind of shitshow, whether it was Scott trying to kill Jackson and Allison because she broke up with him, or Isaac getting arrested, or getting drugged at a party and then taken hostage by a serial killer with a lizard on a leash.

Speaking of Jackson, he didn’t seem to be remotely bothered by his upcoming first night of unabashed wolfiness. And by that Stiles meant Jackson hadn’t so much as mentioned it.

He knew Jackson was spending time with Derek, learning how to control his shift, but they weren’t actually doing a whole lot more of those “pack meetings” since the first one at the loft. Derek was busy looking for Erica and Boyd, and he and Isaac were both busy fixing up the apartment. He assumed Jackson had something to do too.

It was still awkward being around him, trying to walk the line between “We’ve been fighting with each other for years over everything from Lydia to lacrosse.” and “We’re pack and I’ll help you any way I can.” For the most part, he’d only managed it by just _not_ talking to Jackson at all. They fist bumped every once in a while in school before it got out, when Jackson decided he was willing to get in Stiles’ personal space, but that was about it.

Since Isaac didn’t give Stiles a complex, he was the one Stiles actually asked, “So, what’s the full moon supposed to look like this month?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be this big, white circle in the sky once the sun goes down.”

“Fuck you, I mean, are we expecting any life-threatening bullshit, magical or otherwise?”

Isaac shrugged from where he was slouched in Stiles’ desk chair. He’d commandeered the spot to play an online game on Stiles’ laptop. As he glared at the screen, the top of his lip twitched in an eerily familiar snarl. “Not as far as I know. I’m just hoping to actually wake up in the same spot I went to bed.”

Stiles had yet to actually see Peter since the night at the warehouse, and he didn’t want to break his streak of ignoring Peter’s existence, so he pushed away the shudder at Isaac’s mirroring of that snarl. “Okay, what?” he retorted instead.

“Last month I went to bed in the depot and woke up in Derek’s house. Not a fun experience.”

“Why the hell did Derek move you while you were sleeping?”

Frowning, Isaac glanced at him, “Cus’ he was trying to—” He paused, then coughed. “Nothing. Haven’t you ever heard about letting sleeping wolves lie?”

Stiles held his hands up. “Do I look like I’m capable of anything less than poking every single sleeping wolf I see with a stick?” Dropping his phone onto the mattress, he sat up. “Seriously though, what’s the plan? What’d you _do_ last month?”

“Derek chained us up in the train car, and I’m pretty sure that was the end of it. I don’t remember a whole lot. I just know, it was like…everything was worse.”

“Everything? What everything?”

“ _Everything_ everything. Being stuck inside. Being underground. Knowing the hunters were looking for us. How everything sounded and smelled and felt. Normally, it was just kinda frustrating, but that night I wanted to shout my head off. Still better than my first moon, but not by much.”

That sounded suspiciously like something Stiles had read when he was doing research for Scott in January. He climbed off the bed and went over to his bookshelf, poking at a few of the titles while he let his eyes skim over for the distinct font that the book’d been titled with. When he didn’t find it, he sighed. “I read somewhere that the full moon is supposed to be when your guys’ bloodlust is at its peak.”

Isaac looked wounded, and Stiles shook his head. “That’s just what the book said. I know you guys aren’t _actually_ bloodthirsty. I mean, most of the time anyway. It had all this stuff in it, about the change being caused by stuff that raises your pulse, which it was totally right about. I think it just got kind of, mixed up?

“See, bloodlust is like…it’s like anger times a hundred. So, what if that’s just what the full moon is supposed to be? Whatever you’re normally feeling, but times a hundred. If you _were_ scared, on a full moon you’re terrified. If you _were_ angry, on a full moon you’re bloodthirsty.”

“If you thought someone was even a little hot, on a full moon you’re horny as fuck?” Isaac suggested with a small smirk.

That _definitely_ explained some of Scott’s weird behavior. “Apparently. But, it’s not like you guys can’t control it. That’s the whole point of an anchor.”

Isaac’s hand fell away from the laptop, and he growled softly. “I don’t actually have one.”

“You don’t—”

“No, I don’t have an anchor!” Isaac flicked his fingers out and scoffed. “Boyd found his on his _first_ full moon. Barely a few hours in, and he just…he calmed down and all of a sudden he had all this control and he could help Derek. It’s almost my third, and I still don’t. I’m fine most days just doing Derek’s dumb mantra thing and the deep-breathing, but I still can’t control it like him.”

In an instant, Stiles had fallen into problem-solving mode. He went back over to his bed and sat on the corner, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees. “Okay, well, did Derek say anything about _how_ to find an anchor? I mean, if you want me to chuck lacrosse balls at you while your hands are duct-taped behind your back, I can.”

“Why would you _do_ that?” Isaac cried.

Raising his voice to match, Stiles threw his hands out. “It worked with Scott!”

“You chucked lacrosse balls at Scott?”

“Yeah! I was pissed at him. It was cathartic.”

Abruptly, Isaac frowned and tipped his head to the side. “You…you beat Scott up with lacrosse balls cus’ you were mad at him?”

When Isaac put it like that, yeah, it didn’t sound so great. “I mean, I don’t normally beat people up for making me mad. Not for years, anyway. It was a special circumstance.” When Isaac didn’t look appeased, Stiles added, “He, uh, there was this thing with a mountain lion, and my dad got hurt.”

After a moment, Isaac nodded. “Derek just said that we had to find something to hold on to. A feeling or a thought.”

“Right, and we found out with Scott that apparently bitten wolves work different than born wolves. Derek insisted that he had to do the grr face thing, that anger would teach him control. But then, it turned out it was actually Allison.” Just to check, he prodded, “You don’t happen to have anyone that would work, would you? Any crushes I should know about?”

Isaac clasped his hands together. “You’re bi, right?”

Stiles squinted. “Yeah…why?”

“I’m—I don’t. I can’t remember the word. Dating isn’t my thing, okay?”

A few nights of intensive research when Stiles was still trying to figure his own interests out had left a few more options in his vocabulary for being queer, so he tried out the one that sounded right. “Uh, you’re aromantic?”

“I thought it was the other one. Asexual. That one.”

“One is no dating, the other is no sex, I think, but I’m pretty sure you can be both.”

“Right. Then yeah.”

“Aces,” Stiles acknowledged, snorting at Isaac’s sharp look. “Okay, next option.”

* * *

Was there ever going to be a full moon that Derek would actually get to enjoy as an Alpha?

His mom had become so much brighter around the full moon, a light that drew everyone around her close. She’d led runs and hosted bonfires, spent the whole night smiling with teeth a little too sharp out of choice, not lack of control. Full moons were the nights that Derek thought he understood what it meant to be an Alpha the most, watching his mom connect with everyone in the pack. Well, except Prue.

Laura hadn’t loved them, when it was her turn, but she hadn’t hated them either. They were quieter affairs, since it was hard to justify any kind of party for a pack of two wolves on the run. He would cook something with her, something fragrant enough to overpower any upsetting memories. Bread, pie, baked potatoes. No meat. On bad months they sat together on the couch and talked as quietly as they could manage for the sake of her ears. On good ones they watched a favorite movie of Cora’s or Mom’s, or played music that Lucas had liked to leave blaring in his bedroom while they ate. It was good.

Derek had yet to spend a full moon with his entire pack in the same room. This month was going to be even worse, knowing his missing members weren’t somewhere safe.

He wasn’t sure whether to be hurt or ashamed when Jackson announced his plans to spend the full moon alone, tossing the words in Derek’s direction as he strolled toward the door after a lesson.

“See you Thursday,” he called. Three little words making clear his separation from the pack.

“Jackson,” Derek said.

Jackson swung around smoothly, not looking away from his phone. “Yeah?”

During most of their lessons, Derek worked on whatever project he had ready for the next step while he talked. Today it was rebuilding the arch that was intended to lead into the kitchen, slathering bricks with mortar and restacking them so it looked less like the Hulk had smashed his way through the wall.

Derek set down his current brick and grabbed the cloth he’d been wiping his hands clean with, scrubbing the slowly drying brick cement off of his skin. “Tomorrow is the full moon.”

“Yeah.”

“Isaac is staying here. I’m setting up his chains in one of the other lofts.”

“Yeah.”

“We have extras.”

“And?”

So much for being subtle. “It’s safer for you to be here, where I can keep an eye on you.”

Snorting, Jackson shook his head. “Yeah, no. I’m gonna pass.”

He headed for the door again, but Derek called out, squeezing the cloth in his hand. “Why won’t you just accept that you’re pack? Stop acting like that doesn’t _mean_ anything.”

Stopping, Jackson let out a half chuckle and tucked his phone into his pocket before turning around and holding his arms out to his sides. “Do you seriously think I’m that stupid?”

“What?” Derek snapped. Of course he didn’t think Jackson was stupid. If anything, he was infuriatingly inquisitive. Half their lessons were spent with Jackson arguing about something or poking and prodding to get more ‘why’s out of him. Why does there have to be an Alpha? Why do wolves lose their control on a full moon? Why does exposure matter?

“I _said_ , ‘Do you seriously think I’m that stupid?’ Do you think I don’t know that if you had your way I’d be at the bottom of the river? Let’s not kid ourselves here, okay? We both know that the only reason you’re letting me in this pack of yours is because there’s no other option for _either_ of us.”

Jackson didn’t give him time to respond, but Derek didn’t have any words ready anyway.

“I get it, okay? I get that I’m just that asshole that forced you to give me the bite. I get that Boyd and Erica are gone, so you need another pack member to make up for them. I get that I’m a danger to society and that your stupid wolf instincts tell you that you have to take care of me or something, but that doesn’t mean you have to lie about wanting me around.”

Surprising himself, Derek huffed a laugh and pointed at Jackson. “You—you are exactly the reason that I didn’t let the others agree to the bite right away.”

Jackson growled and backed up, but Derek shifted his eyes up for a moment. “Stay put. You brought it up, so shut up and listen.”

It didn’t take much to get Jackson’s obedience, and he stopped moving.

Derek readjusted his hand so his right palm was facing Jackson. “Copy me.”

When Jackson had lifted his own left palm, Derek shifted just his hand, letting the hair grow out and his nails lengthen. After a second, Jackson’s hands shifted too, but Derek shook his head. “No, just the one.”

After glaring down at his unwanted claws for a second, Jackson growled again, admitting, “I can’t.”

“Really? Because I can.” To prove it, Derek dropped the cloth and held up his other hand, looking at the bare skin and dull fingertips in faux surprise. “I can do this too.” It didn’t take more than a millisecond of concentration to shrink down all but his index fingernails. “And this.” He shifted his hands down entirely, but let his ears rise to points.

“You don’t get it. Neither does Scott. I got to explain it to Isaac, Erica, and Boyd before they took the bite, and even they don’t understand completely. I’m not like you. I was _born_ this way. There are no ‘wolf instincts,’ Jackson. I _am_ my instincts. I am my biology. To me and others like me, shifting is like breathing. It’s more natural for me to have fangs than flat teeth. Just because becoming an Alpha made me more protective doesn’t make those instincts any less a part of me.” He took a step forward. “There is no ‘wolf’ that’s forcing me to want you in the pack, or making me want to help you. I’m not part wolf, part human. I’m all werewolf.

“And you’re right. You are the asshole who didn’t give me a choice. But I still _chose_ you. I just did it later.”

Jackson grimaced. “But why? After what I did—”

Derek snorted. “What, you want specific reasons? That’s not how it works. I’m still an animal; I can’t tell you if it’s your scent or the fact that you helped Stiles protect Lydia when we went after her. It might have something to do with the pack bond that formed before I knew what I was doing, or maybe it’s knowing that when you were told that you were hurting people, you tried to help them stop you. At some point, I decided that I wanted you in my pack, and you agreed to it. Technically, you can change your mind any time you want and just walk away. If you really don’t want to be here, the bond will break and that’ll be it. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Well you don’t owe me anything either,” Jackson said, revving up to argue again. “I can lock myself up just well as you could. You don’t have to take responsibility for me.”

“Of course I don’t, you idiot. I want to,” Derek growled. “How many times do I have to say that I _want_ you, before you get it?”

Though Jackson’s shoulders twitched, his face twisted into a sneer. “Creep.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Stop applying human concepts to us. Whether you like it or not, you’re not human anymore. You’re a werewolf, and this is how werewolves work. I am your Alpha. I want you and I chose you, so deal with it or break the pack bond.”

As he’d guessed, Jackson balked. His eyes went glassy and he glanced over at the door. His hands, which’d been perfectly comfortable hanging at his sides before, began to grasp at the bottom edge of his jacket. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what, Jackson?”

“You—you killed Peter, because he was murdering all those hunters or whatever. Even though they were the ones who set your house on fire, you still killed him for it. Because he was a monster.”

“Peter had lost his mind. He was a danger to everyone, not just hunters,” Derek said.

Jackson frowned, “Okay, but then what about me?”

“What _about_ —”

“Fucking god, Derek, are you stupid? What about me?” Jackson shouted. “You killed your own uncle, so why’d you just forgive me? I’m pretty sure I killed way more people than he did.”

This conversation had gone on far longer than Derek was expecting, and it was wearing on him. He groaned and stepped over to the sparse furniture Isaac had helped him pick up from a thrift store. It was all of one couch and a coffee table, and Derek picked the table to drop onto. “Jackson, I didn’t forgive you. There’s nothing to _forgive_. You didn’t kill those people. Matt did. The kanima did. Not you.”

“But I—”

“No.” Derek said again. “Not. You. You weren’t in a fugue state, you weren’t forgetting what you’d done. The kanima is a mutation that fed on you. _It_ killed people because Matt told it to. And even if you _did_ remember it, you didn’t get a choice. It’s not your fault that someone else used your body to do something bad.”

He looked up at where Jackson had blue screened, literally, since his eyes were glowing a bright topaz. “Blue eyes aren’t normal, for a wolf, you know. There aren’t random colors that a Beta’s eyes can become when they grow up or get bitten. It’s just gold.”

Gulping, Jackson took a step further into the room, but didn’t meet Derek’s eyes. “Then what’s wrong with mine?”

“Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are.” Derek said simply. “A Beta’s eyes turn blue when they feel guilty. But it’s not just any guilt. It’s the absolute deepest guilt, the kind that has to leave a mark. The kind that comes from taking someone’s life.”

“Your eyes were blue, before you became an Alpha.”

“Yeah.”

There was no immediate, cutting response, and Derek had already begun to prepare himself for a whole new kind of argument by the time Jackson spoke.

“So, when should I show up tomorrow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes: Yes, you're damn right my sweet boy Isaac is aro/ace. Fight me. I love him so much and I think he's so interesting, and the whole thing with Allison in the show never made sense to me, and I've just always seen him as aro/ace? So that's what we're going with.  
> After asking around, I know that most people (sterek fans I mean) are either negative or neutral on the subject of Heather. I myself am pretty neutral? I wanted to include her, to try and give her an actual personality that isn't "I wanna get laid!" or at least not _just_ that. Not to mention that her character meant literally nothing in the show, and I wanted to change that by at least allowing readers to see what she _means_ to Stiles.  
> I love working out all this werewolf lore stuff, and adding in whatever I see fit and trying to explain the different facets of werewolves and their magic and how they fit into the world. It's one of the Major motivators for me with this rewrite, so it's been a blast fitting stuff in!  
> Also, it means a _lot_ to me to point out that Derek is NOT part human, part wolf. He's ALL werewolf, and should be treated as such. It's always been a personal pet peeve for him to be portrayed as 'fighting' his wolf side or 'clinging to' his humanity. In this rewrite it felt especially egregious because that's how the hunters want him to appear. That's how werewolves are portrayed in the universe. As mindless monsters who can only barely scrape by as 'human' if they follow all the hunter's rules and hate themselves for being werewolves. It's gross. I didn't want Derek to ever let people close to him view him that way, and I definitely didn't want him to view himself that way. If there's one thing Derek's not insecure/guilty about, it's _being_ a werewolf. So, yeah, it was vindicating to get to point that out.
> 
> Thank you so much for the love and I hope you enjoy the next chapters!


	3. Jackson's First Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite specific in content, but hopefully there's enough interesting stuff to keep you invested. XD

With all the actual effort he’d been putting in to fix up the loft, Derek wasn’t willing to house two un-anchored Betas in their apartment. Instead, he went to the loft next door, which was just as dilapidated, and stored Isaac and Jackson’s chains next to a couple beams. It still had the high ceilings for Isaac, but at least if one of them broke out there wasn’t much left to be destroyed.

There _was_ one thing that was the same now as it’d been when Derek was in high school. Full moons during summer break were a hundred times easier than during the school year.

The front door rolled open just after noon to admit one Jackson Whittemore, decked out in the jacket Derek had tossed at him after their talk the day before. He’d initially given them to Isaac, Erica, and Boyd as a form of protection, just something harder to cut through than a hoodie. But even though they were out of danger, at least until the Alpha pack made a move, Isaac still wore his any time he left the house, adopting it as a sort of uniform.

Jackson seemed to need all the reassurance he could get that he was part of the pack, so it wasn’t much of a hardship to pick up another jacket.

“Tell me you brought something you can run in,” Derek said. “I told you we were going to the Preserve.”

Without missing a beat, Jackson let a backpack fall off his shoulder and held it up. “I’m not staying in nasty clothes the whole night.”

“‘Sup, Jackass,” came Stiles’ voice, moments before he appeared in the doorway. He too had a backpack on.

Begrudgingly, Jackson held out a fist that Stiles bumped with his own. The ritual was beyond Derek, since he knew Jackson had enough general control to keep from hurting Stiles now, and their relationship was still too rocky for a fist bump to be intended as a friendly greeting.

Jackson looked Stiles up and down, his eyebrows raised. “ _You’re_ coming to the Preserve?”

Stiles shrugged. “I was requested.”

The stairs clanged as if on cue, and Isaac jumped the last few steps, wearing a set of gym clothes and his own jacket. “You got it?”

Stiles jiggled his bag. “Yup.”

“Got what?” Derek asked.

“Research,” he answered. He gestured down at his normal clothes. “It’s not like I can run with you guys. So, instead, Isaac has requested my Yoda services.”

Isaac crossed the loft and slung an arm over Stiles’ shoulder. “The nerd is helping me find an anchor.”

Even though Stiles was smiling and nonchalantly readjusting his shoulder strap, bitter anxiety filtered into the room. Derek watched Isaac’s face twitch with recognition, and even Jackson turned to blink at Stiles. From Stiles’ side, Isaac raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Oh. Damn it.

“Good,” Derek said, putting his focus on Isaac as though the message was for him, and not a way to soothe Stiles. “The moons will be easier once you can control yourself.”

Slowly, the anxiety faded out, and to avoid the impending awkwardness, Derek went over to grab his jacket off the mattress that he still hadn’t replaced, then sat to put on socks and shoes.

“Wait, you were barefoot?” Stiles asked. “How didn’t I notice that?”

He looked up from his boot laces in time to see Isaac flick Stiles on the nose and point down at his own bare feet. From his back pocket he pulled a wad of socks, and then he jabbed his finger at the door, where his shoes were sitting. After a second, he went to get his own stuff on.

Derek could see the question coming a mile away, so he headed it off, tightening the knot of his laces and standing up again. “Pack doesn’t wear shoes or socks in the house. That goes for you and Jackson when you come over from now on. I made sure you won’t step on anything.”

“No shoes… _or_ socks?”

“Yes.”

Stiles snorted. “What if our feet stink?”

“If they’re that bad, your shoes wouldn’t keep us from smelling it. The socks would make it worse.” Nevermind that feet were one of the scents he’d been teaching the Betas how to shut out since they started living at the depot. It was a basic survival technique for a wolf.

Though he cocked his jaw to the side, Stiles still nodded. “Got it.” He paused, then winked. “Bossman.”

Derek didn’t dignify that with a response.

Stiles could make all the claims he wanted about not being able to run with the wolves, but he’d barely climbed out of the backseat of the Camaro before he was wrestling with Isaac. His backpack lay forgotten in the dirt as Isaac tried to put him in a headlock, one arm pressed against his neck. With a twist that had Derek blinking, Isaac had been flipped onto his back in the dirt while Stiles stood over him, oozing distress. After a second of stunned silence, Isaac growled, and Stiles snapped back, outright laughing before running into the trees with Isaac on his heels.

They were still in hearing range, the rustle of the bushes and Isaac’s snarls close enough for Derek not to worry, so he didn’t bother calling them back over.

Jackson’s exit of the car was far more dignified, even though he was in a pair of gym shorts and a tank top instead of his usual designer jeans. “So, you gonna tell me why your car smells like someone bled out in it?” he asked, scooping up Stiles’ bag and heading for the trees.

Derek joined him, letting his pace pick up into a light jog. “That’d be because someone almost did. Boyd got injured pretty badly at the rave.” He glanced over to Jackson, then added, “The Argents shot him up.”

The last thing he needed was Jackson thinking the kanima had nearly killed his own pack member.

“You guys were _there_? The hunters were there? When I—when that chick died?” Jackson’s voice was strangled, and his next step wavered, nearly tripping him.

Derek frowned. “Yes. Jackson, how much do you actually know about what’s been happening the last couple months? Hell, this entire time?”

Jackson’s grimace said plenty. “Uh, bits and pieces? Just stuff Stilinski told me, newspaper headings, and stuff Lydia mentioned. Plus, whatever McCall yelled at me about.”

“Right. We’ll need to catch you up.”

“Why can’t you do it now? It’s not like we have anything else going on,” Jackson gestured forward toward the heartbeats rabbiting around a few dozen yards ahead of them. “They’re off in their own world.”

Most of the stuff Derek would have to explain involved at least one of Jackson’s pack members being in danger. “We shouldn’t rile you up.”

“Dude, I feel fine. Just tell me.”

So Derek did. They moved farther into the woods, following Isaac and Stiles, their sounds reaching much farther out in the open than they would in any building, while Derek summarized the various things that’d been happening. Keeping up the slow jog got at least a little energy out, and Jackson was blessedly quiet during the explanations, instead of arguing like he usually did.

He could hear Peter coming, as was probably Peter’s intention, and his scent headed toward Derek’s front, where Isaac and Stiles were still goofing off. Desensitized to his visits by now, Derek didn’t bother to respond to his arrival until Stiles’ heart rate sped up.

“ _Derek!_ ” Stiles called out, with so much warning in his voice that Derek shot toward him, prepared for a fight.

He found them in a tiny clearing, Peter on one side, and Stiles holding Isaac back on the other. He’d forced himself in front of Isaac, creating a wall between him and Peter. Isaac himself was just blinking between the two of them.

Jackson burst through into the clearing just behind him, and also came to an instant stop. Whatever his issues were with Stiles, it didn’t stop him from holding an arm out and pulling Stiles, and therefore Isaac, over to his side so they were all standing behind Derek. Only Isaac looked as confused as Derek was.

“What are you guys doing?” Isaac asked. He tugged at Stiles’ hold on his wrist, frowning when it didn’t let go.

Stiles’ eyes never left Peter, and his teeth bared in a snarl that ironically almost perfectly matched Peter’s own. “Stay away from him.”

The only interaction Derek had actually seen of Peter and Stiles was in the LTC facility. Just that brief second where Stiles resisted Peter’s Alpha pull. But they looked at each other like they had history, Peter’s fond, and Stiles’ hateful. Derek was reminded almost violently that Jackson and Stiles had set Peter _on fire_ the last time they saw him.

Peter had still been walking the straight and narrow when it came to Derek’s pack, keeping his distance and announcing himself plenty early. He didn’t show any of the same reservations about Stiles. “From who? From Isaac, or from your Alpha?”

“Both. I already told you what would happen if you came after my family. Pack is the same, got it?”

Nodding, Peter swaggered forward, making a semi-circle around Derek so he could get closer to Stiles without actually entering Derek’s space. “Of course, pump me full of wolfsbane bullets, wasn’t it? Or are you gonna go for another molotov?”

“Why don’t you fuck around and find out?” Jackson butted in, growling low.

_Oh._ Peter had almost destroyed the only thing Jackson and Stiles had in common. Lydia.

Before things could get any more tense, Derek put out a hand. “Peter. Stop playing with them.”

Obligingly, Peter raised his hands in surrender and stopped moving. “Of course. Just wanted to get a glimpse of your human. Haven’t gotten to see him since I got back. Jackson, how’re you adjusting?”

“Screw you.”

“Okay, I think I like the other ones better,” Peter sighed. “Isaac, you like me, right?”

Isaac shrugged. “I would attack you without hesitating, but other than that I don’t really give a fuck.”

Peter dropped his hands and slapped them on his thighs. “Close enough, I guess.”

“What’re you doing here? Other than stressing out my entire pack on a full moon?” Derek asked.

“I’m just doing what you asked,” Peter explained. “I finished combing the East side, thought I’d try to run off some energy before moonrise.” He tipped his head. “Do you mind if I join you?”

As uncomfortable as Peter’s mere existence made him, Derek didn’t actually care if Peter was around for the moon. He was being remarkably obedient and helpful, and Derek knew he still wasn’t at full strength, so he wasn’t much threat.

Isaac wouldn’t care either, which left Jackson and Stiles.

He looked at Jackson, expecting him to offer an opinion loudly and offensively, but to his surprise, Jackson was looking to Stiles for his judgement. Switching his gaze over, he raised a brow to indicate that it was Stiles’ call.

Stiles was clearly struggling with something, hands that’d finally let go of Isaac squeezing into fists at his side as he chewed on his lip. “You stay the hell away from me,” he started. “I’m talking at least a ten foot perimeter around me that is zombie-free at all times, alright? No more of that scruff-holding crap. And you don’t touch _them_.”

Then, since he seemed to realize that with Derek there he could make demands without fear of retribution, he added, “And stop calling me ‘the human’. I get that I’m like a unicorn when it comes to werewolf packs, but knock it off.”

Peter pretended to shiver. “Ooh, he’s got bite.” He made eye contact with Isaac. “You see what I meant about—”

“That’s enough, Peter,” Derek interrupted. He hadn’t actually told Stiles that Peter’s intention when offering the bite was for him to be _Derek’s_ Beta. “If we’re going to run, let’s run.”

Isaac bolted into the trees, followed by Peter at an appropriate distance, while Stiles sobered and started walking slowly forward, apparently tired of playing with Isaac. He pulled his bag off Jackson’s shoulder with a little yank, then reached in and grabbed a small notebook and a pen.

“Is that one of Lydia’s?” Jackson asked, pointing at the pen with obvious confusion.

Stiles nodded, even as he stuck the end of it between his teeth. “It was, until she got mad I chewed on it. Like she’s never heard of stimming. She should’ve seen it coming, honestly. Besides, it’s glorious. I’d never spend twenty bucks on a fucking pen, but damn.”

When Derek looked at the pen properly, he couldn’t see much of what was so special. It was metal and black.

Jackson actually smirked at that. “You get her one for her next birthday and she’ll lay off the plaid comments.”

The pen nearly fell out of Stiles’ mouth. “ _That’s_ how you did it? All it took was a pen?”

“That, and I can actually pull plaid off,” Jackson jeered. Then, his brows furrowed. “She gets _herself_ the fancy shit, Stiles. All she wants from other people are the basics. Don’t fuck it up.”

For a moment, Derek worried they were about to gear themselves into another fight, but Stiles just sagged. “How many times do I have to tell you people that we’re not together? She turned me down, pretty explicitly actually, and we’re just friends. As creepy as I feel saying it, since it’s only been like a month since I was daydreaming about—uh, things, at this point she’s practically sibling-like.”

Derek knew that Lydia Martin had been a point of contention between Jackson and Stiles, probably for a while, considering how long Erica said he’d been mooning over her. With that argument suddenly dismantled, they ended up just staring at each other, no longer following the others.

“Jackson.”

The both of them jumped, like they’d forgotten he was there. While he could believe Stiles was scatterbrained enough to forget his presence, Jackson should’ve known better.

It only took a sigh and a tip of his chin to send Jackson running.

“I swear, when she gets back, I’m getting both Erica _and_ you bells,” Stiles grumbled as he started walking again. “Would it kill you to make some noise?”

Derek chuckled. “One: I’ve been here the whole time. Two: Yeah, it probably would get me killed. And three: It takes effort to make noise in the woods.”

In an instant, Stiles’ pen was poised over a page of his notebook, the exact same look on his face as he’d had months ago when Derek was hiding out in his room. “Is that a ‘born wolf’ specific thing?”

“That’s an ‘I grew up in the woods’ thing, Stiles,” he answered dryly. “Besides, why would I know the difference? You know there weren’t…” he faded off. The others were still in hearing range and he wasn’t totally sure if he wanted them to know that he’d never dealt with a bitten wolf before meeting Scott. It was like he’d lied on the resume when he applied to be their Alpha, claiming to know more than he did, when really it was Stiles who’d helped Scott learn control. Isaac was better off getting his help than Derek’s.

Since the mood had already sunk a little, Derek set his jaw and asked, “How’s Scott?”

His discomfort was almost worth it when Stiles actually smelled touched at the question, radiating a quiet happiness and stepping lightly over the ground. “He’s okay. Better than I thought he would be, what with Allison breaking up with him and moving away.” He snorted softly. “I think he’s in denial, but since he didn’t make out with Lydia this month, I don’t really care, you know? Not that it could get much worse than making out with her on _Valentine’s Day_ , which, why am I only _just now_ remembering that that’s what day it was? God, my memory is like swiss cheese or something.”

Derek didn’t know what exactly Stiles was talking about, but he was relatively sure that Scott had done something royally stupid on his second moon.

“Anyway, he’s fine. Said something about working on his stupid reading list tonight, so I’m all yours—I mean Isaac’s.” Stiles bit his lip and scribbled something on his notebook before flipping a few pages. “I mean, I’ll be around to help him with the anchor thing, and then I’ll get out—”

“You should stay,” Derek blurted, “for the moon.”

Apparently just telling Stiles he was pack wasn’t enough. Derek should’ve known. The same bitter scent from before was stretching across the space between them, probably leaving a trail of anxiety on every bush Stiles brushed against. How long would it take before Stiles actually believed him again? Believed that Derek _wanted_ him in the pack and wasn’t going to kick him out for overstaying his welcome or trying to help Isaac with something Derek couldn’t?

Stiles just nodded solemnly and walked a little faster. His demeanor shifted slowly as he focused in on his notes, and after a second he called out, “Isaac! You ready for option one?”

Derek hadn’t actually thought through bringing a human with to a moon run. The whole point of the outing was for them to get all their energy out by pushing themselves far enough and fast enough to tire out. It would be impossible for Stiles to keep up, athlete or not, and they couldn’t just leave him alone in the woods while they ran off.

If he asked, Peter would probably agree to keep an eye on him, but Stiles would also probably _riot_ , or waste the wolfsbane Derek knew he still had in his backpack by throwing it at Peter’s head.

But to his surprise, Isaac and Jackson seemed to instinctively know what to do. Isaac showed up when Stiles called and actually waved Derek off until he ran up to join Jackson and Peter, then reappeared at their sides a few minutes later, concentrating hard on something and looking down at his hands so intently he nearly ran into a tree. At the last second, Jackson yanked him to the side and glared at Peter, who’d also put a hand out to grab Isaac, until he backed off.

Before Derek could even start worrying about Stiles being left behind or not knowing what direction they were going, Jackson disappeared, then reappeared smelling like Stiles and annoyance.

The pattern continued every time they changed direction or sped up a little, with either Isaac or Jackson heading back to check on or nudge Stiles the right way. Once he’d adjusted to the schedule, it was actually peaceful.

* * *

Stiles was almost out of bullet points on his list by the time he recognized the trees around him and saw that they’d made a massive circle back to Derek’s car. His legs were burning from the walk, too. Lacrosse wasn’t really a stamina sport, and they’d been going for almost four hours.

Since he’d insisted Isaac spend an hour on each possible anchor and technique before giving up, that meant they’d already tried four things.

The wolves that crawled into Derek’s car with him were actually sweaty, which Stiles hadn’t seen in ages. “How fast were you guys going?”

Isaac smiled sharply from the front seat. “Faster than Jackson.”

A growl had barely started up before Derek scolded, “Knock it off.”

By the time they got back to Derek’s, Jackson and Isaac had moved from bickering at each other to both complaining about being hungry, and Stiles was both impressed and grateful when Derek headed straight for the kitchen and pulled a plate piled high with sandwiches out of the fridge.

“Eat,” he ordered, setting it on the island.

The island he’d _built_. Along with the counters he’d installed himself, and the archway he was almost done with. Stiles was getting a little jealous of Derek’s apparent ability to pick up home renovation skills just from reading a couple books. Just seeing the things Derek had managed made Stiles itch to develop carpentry as a new hobby. It seemed like every time Stiles dropped Isaac off or joined him in his room—where the walls had been completely redone and soundproofed—something else had been fixed or built. It hadn’t even been a month.

Sliding onto a bar stool—bought, not built, thank god—Stiles let the others grab food while he scribbled at his notes. Between each new exercise, Isaac had come back to him in the woods and explained why whatever he was doing wasn’t working. Deep breathing was impossible for him to focus on. The Alpha, Beta, Omega mantra didn’t do anything at all. Trying to count things in his surroundings only riled him up. And even focusing on Derek’s heartbeat, which Stiles had hoped would work similar to Scott and Allison, just replacing romantic love with familial, had just given him a headache.

It didn’t feel like a good idea to take any food away from the ravenous wolves surrounding him, but when a plate appeared next to his notebook and someone’s hand, probably Isaac’s, pushed his head toward the sandwich on it, he didn’t argue. The BLT was cold, but surprisingly satisfying after the walk, and he nibbled on it while he listened to the noises around him.

“What happened to the other couch?” Jackson asked from a distance.

“It stank, so we got rid of it last night. Thrift stores are apparently the _worst_ place to get soft stuff,” Isaac answered. “This one’s brand new.”

A snort from much closer to Stiles than he’d expected made him twitch as Derek added, “Yeah, and it cost five times as much.”

There was a certain level of surrealness to sitting in a room of werewolves on a full moon and listening to them talk about how expensive furniture was.

He zoned out pretty quickly after that, blocking out everything else in the room while he flipped through his pages and pulled up the websites he’d saved to his phone to scan the list of meditation and grounding techniques.

Some of the things listed, Isaac was already doing. Eating, exercising, laughing. Stiles didn’t know if that would work as an anchor, though. It didn’t seem strong enough. They’d already tried a lot of the mental stuff, and some stuff Isaac had ruled out completely, like the math. What was left?

“Hey.”

Stiles flicked his thumb up and down the list again.

“Stiles.”

He hummed, then reread the description below “Listening to Your Surroundings.” That might work, or would it be too overwhelming with Isaac’s super-hearing?

“Stiles!”

A finger poked Stiles in the back of the neck, and he flailed around to find the culprit. Isaac was clearly biting back laughter, while Jackson cackled over on the couch.

“What?” Stiles cried. “Can I help you?”

Isaac’s eyes flickered gold at Stiles’ raised tone. “What are you _doing_? We’ve said your name like a hundred times.”

Stiles lifted up his phone screen. “I’m helping! Now, count backwards from a hundred.” When Isaac twisted his face in disgust at the mention of numbers, Stiles jerked his phone toward the fridge. “It’s that or you hold onto some ice cubes.”

Finally, Isaac sighed and backed off a couple feet, crossing his arms like a child as he mumbled a vicious little, “ _One hundred, ninety-nine…_ ”

“Hey, Stilinski,” Jackson called, “house rules.”

Herding Isaac back into the living room meant abandoning his research, but now that his concentration had broken, Stiles couldn’t bring himself to even look at the notes. He nudged Isaac toward the couch before asking, “What?”

“House rules,” Jackson said slowly, as if Stiles was a three-year-old. “If I have to, you have to.”

Stiles squinted at him and scratched at the back of his neck. “H—house what?”

“Take your shoes and socks off, Stiles,” Derek said from the kitchen, his exasperation clear.

Resisting the urge to smack his palm against his forehead, Stiles headed over to the door and toed his sneakers off, before peeling off his socks and tucking them into his shoes. The concrete floor was cold underneath his feet, but it didn’t feel like he was walking on the layers of dirt and grime he might’ve expected.

“You guys need a rug or something.”

He headed back to the couch once the deed was done, dropping in between Jackson and Isaac just to see Jackson’s silent snarl. Isaac flopped over onto him immediately and kicked his legs over the arm of the couch so he could splay across his spot with his whole head and shoulders on Stiles’ lap.

Stiles jumped as water seeped into his sweats. “Dude, why is your hair all wet?”

“You seriously didn’t notice the part where I took a shower and changed my clothes?” Isaac asked. His eyes were closed and he looked half asleep. “Jackson did too.”

A glance at Jackson’s head confirmed Isaac’s claims. Shit. “How long was I out?”

Jackson frowned. “What do you mean, out? You were just reading.”

Waving his hand, Stiles explained, “Same thing, honestly. I don’t really remember anything after the couch being too expensive.”

“That was like two hours ago,” Isaac mumbled.

“My point exactly.” Stiles looked down at Isaac and got his revenge, poking him in the neck. Bright gold eyes opened up to glare at him. “Wake up. You wanna sleep? Sleep through the full moon. Did you finish counting? Start over.”

Isaac growled softly, then cut out when Jackson started up at Stiles’ side. “One hundred,” he started. “Ninety-nine.” As he switched to counting in his head, he stuck his tongue out at Jackson.

“How much longer until you guys get furry?” Stiles asked.

“Eighty-seven,” Isaac said.

Derek spoke again from his spot at the kitchen counter, his back barely visible around the side of the archway. “A few more hours, then we’ll go next door.”

“Eighty.”

“ _Isaac_ ,” Jackson growled.

“Seventy-eight.”

Stiles groaned. “Hey, Alpha, some help please?”

He still wasn’t entirely sure if the name was pushing it. Derek hadn’t said anything about Stiles needing to keep his distance, but Stiles couldn’t shake the feeling that he was on thin ice. It wasn’t like he could hear Derek’s heartbeat to tell if he was lying about Stiles being in the pack permanently. Maybe he should’ve made Derek repeat himself with Isaac or Jackson there as witnesses.

“Sixty-nine.”

Jackson’s increased growling cut off abruptly at something Stiles couldn’t hear, his gaze jerking toward the kitchen. Like he’d been summoned, he rose from the couch and padded over, freeing Stiles from his middle-man position.

Once Jackson was in the other room, Stiles frowned down at Isaac’s face. He lifted a hand and jabbed at Isaac’s forehead. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“Fifty-three,” was Isaac’s only answer, though the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk.

“Is it even _helping_?”

Isaac bared his teeth, showing off short fangs, and shook his head. Then, he shrugged. “Forty-nine.”

Huffing, Stiles dropped his head against the back of the couch. “I’ve created a monster.”

The next milestone of time that Stiles recognized was the moment the scent of fresh baked bread started to filter out of the kitchen. “Is that what I think it is?”

“I told you he cooks,” Isaac sniped, lisping a little through his fangs. He’d finally fallen quiet once he reached the end of his countdown, staring balefully up at his hands and shaking them out once in a while, as though it would banish the long claws that’d grown out of his fingernails and the hair that’d sprouted up.

* * *

The near serenity of the moon didn’t last. Derek wasn’t expecting it to, and he was outrageously grateful that it’d lasted so long in the first place. That lucky streak broke right about the time he herded Isaac and Jackson into the empty loft that they would be spending the night in.

Isaac had been growing steadily more and more snappish and annoyed as the evening went on, but Jackson was relatively calm until they actually got to the loft. Upon seeing the puddle of chains he would need to be attached to for the next few hours, Jackson shifted up almost violently and skittered to the side to get away, since Derek was blocking the door to keep him from leaving.

“Fuck no!”

“Jackson, you knew this was happening,” Derek warned. Having an anchor was helping dull most of his oversensitivity, but his temper was still too short. “You don’t have control yet.”

As Jackson growled sharply, Derek shoved a hand behind himself to keep Stiles from entering the loft without looking away. The heel of his palm hit a shoulder, and Stiles let out a quiet, “ _Oof_ ,” as he backed up.

Crouching, Jackson snarled, and Derek only had a split second to shift up himself and step forward.

Jackson rushed him, either trying to escape or just rip into Derek. In order to keep the momentum from knocking both of them on their asses, Derek swung him in a quick circle with a grip on his wrist and tossed him even further into the room, toward the beam he needed to hook Jackson to.

Derek listened to Isaac’s heartbeat rise as Jackson’s fury became contagious. “Stiles,” he called, “get Isaac’s chains on.”

Crossing the room, he gave Jackson another shove to get him up against the right beam, then swooped down to grab a cuff. With one hand at the center of Jackson’s chest holding him back, he swung the open cuff at Jackson’s wrist. It latched as it hit, and Derek wasted no time in tossing it behind Jackson’s back before he could get a grip on the chain. Switching hands, he did the other wrist exactly the same.

The entire time, Jackson was so busy snarling and snapping his teeth in Derek’s face that he didn’t even try to get out. It was only when Derek realized he would have to let go of Jackson to get behind him and pull the chains taut, that Jackson seemed to notice he was shackled. He jerked his hands forward, claws aimed at Derek’s midsection, only to get stopped short when the chains didn’t give.

“You wanna switch places with me before this becomes a bad cartoon and I get smashed into the support beam?” Stiles asked. He stood a good distance behind Jackson, the ends of his chains in hand. All Jackson would need to do was pull a little harder and Stiles would probably go flying.

Taking Jackson’s confusion as his chance, Derek darted over and grabbed the chains from Stiles, pulling backward just in time to stop Jackson from testing the limits of his restraints. Keeping the chain tight, he stepped up to the back of Jackson’s beam and crossed the chains over themselves, then tossed each end in a wide arc around Jackson’s chest a few times, before finally padlocking them together.

With Jackson taken care of, Derek went over to Isaac to check his setup. It was much more neatly done, since Isaac had actually let Stiles help before losing his shit entirely.

Amidst the growling and roars of rage from the two of them, it was a weird juxtaposition to hear Stiles observe, “Wow, he’s even worse than Scott was.”

He’d kept back at least, walking along the dusty back wall to get around to Derek again instead of passing between the two furious wolves.

Scowling, Derek went back to the still open door and grabbed the bag he’d brought. Pulling out a blanket for Stiles to sit on, and another for himself, he replied, “I should’ve had his chains ready beforehand. I thought I had more time.”

“Yeah, I thought the run in the Preserve was supposed to tire them out, why’re they already so amped up?”

Stiles grabbed his own bag from the doorway and slid it shut, happily locking himself in a room with three werewolves, only one of them capable of self-control.

Derek frowned over at Jackson and Isaac. Stiles was right, they were far more riled up than they should’ve been. The moon hadn’t even properly risen yet. “I…don’t know. I think it’s Jackson setting Isaac off.”

In seconds, Stiles had made himself comfortable on the floor. “They aren’t even— _woah_.”

Jackson wasn’t just growling anymore, he was lunging against his chains, straight toward Stiles. The suddenly directed fury had startled Stiles into scrambling up onto his knees.

“What the fuck did I do?” he cried.

“Don’t yell, you’ll make it worse.” Derek growled at the grating of Stiles’ voice on his ears and left his blanket on the ground to stand between Stiles and Jackson.

The minute Stiles was out of Jackson’s eyeline, he turned to Isaac and kept lunging. At this rate he was gonna break something, probably himself.

“Jackson!”

The instant attention he’d been giving Derek for the last month or so was gone. It made sense, since even Isaac didn’t listen to Derek on a full moon, but without the extra measure of control Derek wasn’t actually sure how to calm Jackson down.

Isaac was getting just as bad, apparently not a fan of Jackson’s attempts to get at him. With the two of them together and the acoustics of the room, the sound of their anger was painfully loud.

“Oh good, so it’s not just him hating me, then,” Stiles noted. He slapped a hand over his mouth when his voice brought Jackson’s attention back to him. “Should I leave the room or something?” he mumbled through his palm, as though it would help keep him off Jackson’s radar.

“Pretty sure that’ll make it worse too.”

“Awesome. So what do we do?”

Derek looked from Isaac to Jackson, then dropped to sit directly between the two of them in case the chains gave out. “I think we wait.”

—

It took the entire night for Jackson to even slow down. He was pulling energy from nowhere, just as vicious and pissed six hours in as he’d been at the beginning, with no hint at what was actually making him freak out so badly. He just kept going for whoever got his attention, switching between Isaac, Stiles, and even Derek without discrimination.

The scents coming off him were clear as day, but boatloads of anger and fear didn’t clue Derek into the reasoning behind Jackson’s fury.

Isaac at least, calmed before the sun came up. He ran out of steam a few hours in and dropped to the floor, growling softly and occasionally whimpering at Jackson’s particularly loud noises. He clearly hadn’t had an epiphany like Boyd had and was still anchorless, but at least he wasn’t as excited as Jackson.

Around five, the lunging stopped. At five thirty, the growling stopped. Five thirty-five, and Jackson was down for the count. Isaac followed immediately, knocking out on the concrete as though it was a featherbed.

“I’ll get Jackson if you get Isaac,” Stiles offered a few minutes later. Derek had watched him pass almost two hours eerily focused on braiding together the strings that edged his blanket into sets of three, but he didn’t have werewolf stamina to keep him going, and he looked ready to drop.

“You sure you want Jackson?”

Stiles shrugged. “He’s not naked this time, I’m cool with it. Besides, Isaac likes you better.”

Together, they moved the sleeping wolves back into the loft. Isaac, Derek actually carried up to his room, as awkward as it was getting up the stairs. When he got back down, Jackson was sprawled on his mattress while Stiles frowned down at him, arms crossed over his chest.

He looked up when Derek came closer. “Sorry if you don’t want him in your space. I just figured he’d bitch if I put him on the couch.”

“You’re probably right.”

Stiles put on a smile, managing to not look so tired for a moment. “I never get tired of hearing that.”

Derek snorted. “Of course you don’t, it doesn’t happen often enough for you to.”

With his middle finger up, Stiles crossed the room and collapsed face first on the couch. “Wake me up when it’s my turn to babysit.”

* * *

“Stilinski, I swear to god.”

Stiles jerked up and winced immediately at the pain in his neck. “Ow, ow,” he hissed, forcing his jaw from side to side and ignoring the beep of his phone.

“ _Stilinski._ ”

“Yeah, yeah, chill out. I just need to take my drugs.” Fumbling at the floor next to the couch, Stiles grabbed his phone and tapped the alarm off. He’d gotten his Adderall out of his backpack and swallowed it dry before he thought to turn and scowl at Jackson. “Stop calling me that.”

From his spot on Derek’s mattress, Jackson scowled right back. “Fuck you.”

The urge to pick a fight was almost unbearable, but Stiles shoved it down. “Are you like...okay?”

Jackson blinked and his frown smoothed out. “What?”

“Dude, last night you were freaking out, don’t you remember?”

“He probably doesn’t,” came Derek’s voice. He was padding down the steps with Isaac behind him. “It’s normal not to remember your first moon right away,” he reassured.

But Jackson had already gotten to his feet. “What? No, I’m supposed to remember this time.”

Derek nodded, “You will. I’ll show you how. We can head over after you eat.”

Isaac raised a hand. “Hey, does no one care that I found my anchor?”

Immediately, Stiles switched gears. “You _what_? When? Which one was it?”

Shrugging, Isaac waltzed into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door. “None of them, and this morning, right after I woke up.” Jackson snorted, and Isaac growled at him. “Shut it.”

“Are you seriously gonna make me ask?” Stiles cried. “I spent hours trying to find your anchor and you just _discovered_ it?”

Stiles was man enough to admit his pride was a little hurt. All that research for something Isaac just figured out. He would never get that time back.

To his surprise, Isaac’s face was a sheepish red when he reappeared from digging in the fridge. “Actually, I think I figured it out a while ago…I just didn’t know that’s what an anchor is.”

Stiles blinked. “ _Excuse me_? You found your anchor and didn’t realize it was your anchor? How does that happen?”

Isaac shrugged. “I used to spend a lot of time reading in my room as a kid. It calmed me down. When I got pissed off there was always this one line that I like…focused on to calm myself down? Like Derek’s mantra but a lot longer. When it kept helping me chill out after I got the bite, I didn’t really think anything of it. Except this morning I woke up, and I was pissed off about getting moved in my sleep _again_ ,” he squinted angrily at Derek, “so I started reciting it and it just clicked. I barely finished thinking it before the claws were gone.”

“What’s the line?” Stiles asked.

“It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.” Isaac recited the lines easily, putting on a slightly posh sounding voice.

Again, Jackson snorted. “Your anchor is from a Terry Pratchett novel?”

Rather than answer, Isaac looked at Derek with hopeful eyes. Stiles almost felt bad for Derek; getting caught in that beam of puppy-dog-cuteness was intense. No mortal, or apparently werewolf, could withstand it for long.

“I’ve never heard of it before,” Derek admitted to Isaac. Then, he turned to Jackson, “But whatever works, works. Leave him alone.”

Clapping slowly, Stiles said, “Nice job. Perfect balance of grump versus dad-vibes. I think you’re getting the hang of this, Alpha.”

Derek’s growl sounded like pure victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes: I know that Isaac's anchor was his father in the show, and I personally hated it, so that wasn't going to happen. I still liked the idea of him having some kind of focal point from his childhood, so this was what I came up with. I know it's not the most imaginative way things could've gone, but I think it's cute. :)  
> Also, I wanted to be crystal clear that Stiles has ADHD and it will be a major factor in his characterization for the entire rest of this rewrite. Getting to actually represent ADHD symptoms that aren't "Hyperhyperhyper" is fun, and I have no intention of stopping. XD
> 
> Thank you so much for all the love and support this fic has gotten, it's been so fun to see you guys come out of the woodwork since the last time I posted fic and hear all your thoughts on the transition from S2 into Summer. <3 <3 I'll see you in a week!


	4. Getting to Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a jumble of things, but quite a lot of that Stackson brotp growth that y'all seem to like so much. Also, we're already halfway through!

“Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Just throw the ball, Stilinski. I only have another hour with you before McCall shows up.”

Jackson grimaced when he realized what he’d said, but he didn’t try to take any of it back, just gestured again with his crosse for Stiles to toss the lacrosse ball.

Biting back the dog joke that was just _begging_ to be let out, Stiles swung his crosse and chucked the ball toward the net behind Jackson. It was a good shot, but Jackson’s reflexes were insane, and his crosse was up before Stiles could even register the ball getting near him.

Once he’d caught it, Jackson immediately relaxed his stance. “Not hard enough. You need more force or you give them too much time to block.”

Stiles scowled. “Fine, but _you_ were too fast. If I can’t see the damn stick move, you’re still using too much wolf power.”

Jackson frowned but nodded and tossed the ball back only slightly too hard to try again.

In possibly the biggest plot twist Stiles had experienced in the last two weeks—which was the best Stiles could make a fair comparison to, considering the absolute batshittery of the last few _months_ —Jackson was the one to suggest training for lacrosse next year with Stiles.

It was a two-for-one deal. Jackson would help Stiles keep the probationary spot on first line that Finstock had given back to him, and Stiles would teach Jackson to play like a human instead of a wolf. The only wrench in the gears was that Stiles was supposed to be practicing with Scott too, and Jackson _refused_ to work with him. According to him, he was only willing to work with Stiles because Derek told him he wouldn’t be allowed to play unless he could control himself.

The fact that Jackson was willing to _obey_ Derek’s ordinance still made Stiles’ head hurt.

Their compromise was for Stiles to work with Jackson for the first half of his training, and with Scott for the second half. So far, it’d been working well, but in order to make it worth it for both Jackson and Scott, Stiles was spending way more time in his pads than he’d intended for the summer. There was practice, and then there was _this_.

“You always aim for the same spot, stop being so predictable.”

“Quit flinching when the ball is coming at you. That’s what your fucking helmet is for.”

“Stilinski, if you don’t start putting some fucking effort into these throws, I’ll bite you.”

By the end of his Jackson training, Stiles was ready to drop. He’d started daydreaming three rounds ago about the scene in sports movies where someone dumps a cooler of ice cold gatorade on the players.

As he flopped down onto the grass and slid his helmet off, Stiles gasped, “Pretty sure Derek would kill you. Weakling human, remember?”

“Derek can bite _me_.”

Stiles giggled. “Dude, he already did.”

Normally, Jackson bailed as soon as the time was up to avoid seeing Scott, but this time he came over and dropped to his knees, then his ass, and kicked Stiles in the thigh. “Would you knock that shit off already?”

Groaning at the new bruise on his leg, Stiles glared at Jackson’s face. He wasn’t even sweating. “What shit? _You_ said it.”

“No, the weakling human shit,” Jackson snapped. “Stop using it as an excuse.”

Stiles lifted himself up onto his elbows. “Fuck off. Not all of us can be superpowered creatures of the night.”

“God, you idiot!” Jackson looked like he was gonna kick Stiles again, but he managed to refrain, fuming down at the ground as his face began to shift. In a rapid movement, he chucked his helmet across the field. The instant regret on his face made it clear he hadn’t meant to throw it that far, but he didn’t go get it, just snarled at Stiles, face human again. “You might not be a werewolf, but you’re not fucking _weak_ , okay? Stop acting like it.”

“ _Excuse me_? I’m not acting like anything!”

“Then stop being so fucking dense!” Jackson shouted. “Dude, you _flipped_ Isaac onto his ass on a _full moon_ , then spent like an hour running circles with a werewolf in the woods before getting tired. Weak people can’t do that.”

The tone of Jackson’s words made Stiles grit his teeth, but the content had him fighting off a blush. “We were just playing around, it’s not like he was actually trying to stop me.”

Pointing at his helmet in the distance, Jackson grimaced. “You seriously think Isaac was bothering to control himself on a full moon? Bullshit. Even Derek was surprised you got Isaac on the ground. Not to mention how many times you’ve apparently just carried me and Scott around while we’re knocked out. Isaac told me about what happened after the rave.”

Stiles flailed his way up to his feet just so he had more space to spread his arms in confusion. “Why are you yelling nice things at me like they’re insults? I don’t understand what’s happening here. If this is what getting hit on is like, I don’t like it.”

Jackson hopped up too, groaning in disgust. “Don’t get your hopes up, Stilinski. I still hate you. I’m just saying you don’t need Derek to keep me from biting you. You could stop me yourself.” He stepped closer and smirked. “It’s whether you _would_ that’s in question.”

As Jackson headed across the green to grab his tossed helmet, Stiles gagged loudly and violently at the implication.

Forget gatorade, where was the bleach?

* * *

After what’d happened when Jackson visited the loft for the first time, Derek waited outside the building for the sheriff’s arrival as proof that it wasn’t some kind of trap. Even though he knew that there was nothing to be worried about, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was about to be taken away in handcuffs. Again.

But no, the car that turned the corner and parked against the street instead of in the actual parking lot wasn’t a sheriff’s cruiser, it was the same golden Cougar from the night Matt held the station hostage. The sheriff wasn’t even in uniform, though he still held himself like a cop, shoulders broad and face solemn.

“I’ve gotta say,” the sheriff said as he got closer, “leaving a note with my deputy wasn’t how I expected this to go.” He pulled off his sunglasses once he’d entered the shadow of the building, but it didn’t help him to look any less intimidating.

Derek almost forgot to lead him inside, he was so busy trying to figure out what the greeting was supposed to mean. Only once the sheriff had actually gotten up to the step and started entering Derek’s personal space did he turn and step through the door. “How did you expect it to go?” he asked.

“Well,” the sheriff sighed, “if I’m honest, I assumed it would take at least another murder before you and I got a chance to talk. Probably over the body.”

There was a slight moment of chagrin as Derek led the way up two flights of stairs, but the sheriff didn’t seem bothered by it. He huffed a little, but kept up just fine.

Finally, Derek went back in through the door he’d left open and waited. What for, he didn’t know. Judgement? Appraisal? It’d been a long time since he’d actually been around a…a parent.

The sheriff’s scent was nervous, but he did a good job hiding it in his body language, arms open and swinging as he looked around the living space. He wandered toward the middle of the room and did a circle, noting absently, “I used to know a deputy who lived in this building. Brought his little girl a blanket once. Didn’t realize they were still renting.”

“They’re not. I own it.”

The squint he got in response was a picture perfect replica of Stiles’. “Interesting choice of real estate.”

At Derek’s silence, he put his hands on his hips—another movement Stiles had clearly stolen—and sighed again. “Let’s get down to business, then. Sound good?”

Derek nodded and went to sit on his coffee table, leaving the couch free. “I asked you here to answer your questions.”

It took less than a second for them to come, but they weren’t what Derek had planned answers to.

“Where’s Isaac?”

“With Jackson, why?”

“Do you have a job?”

“No?”

“But money’s not an issue, I assume?”

“No. Why?”

The sheriff shook his head as he sank down onto a cushion. “Ah ah. I thought I got to ask the questions. If you interrupt me anywhere near as much as Stiles does, this’ll take a lot longer than you seem to be able to handle.”

That wasn’t remotely fair. “Excuse me?”

Rough hands went up, somehow managing to still Derek before he’d even had the chance to try and stand. “It’s not meant as an insult, son. I’m only saying—from what Stiles’ told me…you’re not exactly a people person.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Derek’s hackles were still raised. “I manage.”

“Not from what I’ve seen.”

It was more unnerving than he’d hoped it would be, having a stranger in his den. The sheriff may have been Stiles’ dad, but he was still unfamiliar, and watching him get comfortable on the couch was making Derek twitch. Jolting to his feet despite the sheriff’s reassurance, Derek paced to the other side of the room. “Do you have any questions that you can’t just ask Stiles about, or was this pointless?”

“Is my son safe?”

The words stopped Derek a few feet short of the wall he’d intended to lean on. He turned to the sheriff slowly. “What?”

“From what I’ve been told, you werewolves have pretty good hearing, so I doubt you missed that.” If Derek thought the sheriff sounded serious before, it was nothing compared to now. Though he was still sitting on the couch, when he leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees it felt like a challenge. “I asked you if my son is safe. Is he gonna keep being safe? Because, you see, he keeps telling me about this ‘pack’ thing and how that means everyone having these connections to each other and having each other’s backs. But then he went missing, and the Alpha he kept promising would take care of him was nowhere to be found.”

The accusation hit like a punch to the gut, and Derek turned his back to absorb it.

“Next thing I know, he shows up covered in bruises that he refuses to give me details on and shaking like a leaf. And just an hour or so later, he leaves the house at a run to go help the same pack that’d been ignoring him for over a week.” The sheriff’s voice never came closer, but it still felt like it was pressing in on Derek, demanding his attention. “Do you have _any idea_ how worried he was? Now, he says it’s all better and fixed, and he certainly seems happier, but after what you put my son through, can you blame me for being worried about Isaac?”

Finally, Derek heard the sheriff move, his feet scraping against the floor as he stood. “I’m not going to give you the shovel talk, Derek. I’m just a father, here to find out if this group my son managed to get himself dragged into is going to get him hurt, again. So, I’ll ask you one more time. Is my son safe?”

The dissonance between what Derek had come to recognize as his Alpha instincts and the childlike shame at being yelled at by a parental figure had left Derek with gritted teeth and glowing eyes, but he didn’t bother to force the partial shift back down as he faced the sheriff.

“I doubt that Stiles fully understands it, because I never got the chance to explain it to him, but this isn’t…this isn’t a group.” Derek nearly growled the words. “It isn’t a clique or a gang. This is a pack, and pack is _everything_.”

God, he was so sick of people not understanding. Growing up, it was just _known_. Pack was your family and your friends and your life. Pack was home and safety. Every time someone talked about it like an extracurricular it was like they’d slapped him in the face.

“Every single one of us will protect Stiles with our lives, sir. There is no place safer for him, except maybe with you.”

The relief that poured off the sheriff was sudden and overwhelming. He drooped visibly and his breath deepened and slowed, even as he kept his gaze on Derek’s red eyes. “I think he understands more than you give him credit for.”

Clearing his throat, the sheriff looked around the room again. “You’re what, twenty-two?”

Derek nodded shortly. “Yes, s—”

“Don’t,” the sheriff held a hand up. “Don’t ‘sir’ me, son. I can’t tell you how old it makes me feel. Just call me Noah.”

Just the thought of calling the sheriff by his first name made Derek wrinkle his nose, and the sheriff caught onto it immediately.

“Fine then, call me Sheriff, like all of Stiles’ other friends do. You’re not that much older than them anyway.”

“Six years,” Derek pointed out.

Noah nodded, then tilted his head mid-nod. “Five for Stiles. And Boyd, I believe. Besides, six years feels like nothing once you’re all adults.”

In spite of himself, Derek snorted. “It feels like a lifetime with Isaac.”

“That’s what happens when you become a parent,” Noah said. He nodded his head toward the stairs as though Isaac was just above them. “The others probably just see you as a bigger teenager, but that boy…even I can tell he idolizes you. He doesn’t need a brother, Derek. He needs a father. A _real_ one, not the garbage he had before. If you ever need help with that, you know where to find me.”

That seemed to be the end of it, all the answers Derek had thought out to Noah’s possible questions about the supernatural rendered useless as Noah headed for the door. Before he could disappear around the corner, Derek took a step forward. He wasn’t going to have the chance to get advice about it from anyone else. Well, anyone else he trusted.

“He can’t sleep.”

Noah turned around, one hand in his pocket. “Oh?”

“Isaac. Not since Erica and Boyd were taken. He can’t scent them and it bothers the hell out of him. I keep having to send him to Stiles' or Jackson’s, but he doesn’t like staying overnight. I don’t…how am I supposed to help him?”

As soon as the question was out, Derek grimaced. What was the point in asking a human about something as wolf-like as scenting?

But Noah rubbed his jaw like it was a question he had personal experience with. “Give him something of yours. A jacket or a spare blanket. And you can’t exactly read him to sleep, but kids need some kind of routine. A curfew at least. Teenagers are perpetually sleep-deprived in the first place, so you do what you can to combat it, whether they like it or not.”

“Actually,” he added, “that reminds me. I have a few ground rules when it comes to Stiles and this whole—” He waved a hand, “thing.”

Again, his tone dipped into solemnity that Derek could only dream of getting across. “One; you don’t talk to my son about my health. He’s mentioned some stuff about your sense of smell and hearing. Now, I don’t know if you could tell, but Stiles has a tendency to worry too much. I don’t give a damn how much he complains. You don’t tell him anything about whatever you manage to get off me. If my blood sugar’s too high, or you think I’ve got food poisoning or whatever, he doesn’t hear about it, got it?”

At Derek’s nod, he continued, “Two; don’t you _ever_ lie to me about Stiles. _Ever_.”

“And three; Derek, if my son asks you for the bite, you give it to him. I don’t want to hear anything about him not being able to make that choice for himself. As long as you know Stiles is of sound mind, you take him at his word.”

* * *

Summer break wasn’t turning out anything like spring break. Aside from the obvious reasons, Stiles wasn’t stuck at home like he’d been before. He still couldn’t wander around town like he used to, but he wasn’t housebound. When he wasn’t practicing with Jackson or practicing with Scott, or cheering Lydia on from the corner of her room while she took free college courses just to keep herself occupied, Stiles was in the loft.

Isaac was insistent on Stiles and Jackson coming over as often as possible, usually at the same time. Socks and shoes still weren’t allowed, and despite the heat, Isaac usually threw a blanket or a hoodie at him to wear until it was time to leave. Cuddling was mandatory, and if he struggled there _would_ be bruises.

It was like having a little brother, in a much more literal way than his friendship with Scott. Including how _annoying_ he got.

For his part, Jackson was totally at ease with the continuous hangouts, his chagrin at becoming tactile long-forgotten. His bond with Isaac was obvious even to Stiles, now that they’d “worked their shit out” as Isaac explained.

How they’d gotten over Jackson knowing about Isaac’s abuse and not doing anything about it, Stiles wasn’t sure, but whatever they did, it worked. The two of them were practically inseparable. Jackson doted on Isaac more than Stiles could remember him _ever_ doting on Lydia. He even fed into Isaac’s coffee addiction, always showing up with a cup in hand with Isaac’s name on it. It was pointless, since caffeine didn’t even affect werewolves, but that never stopped them.

Ever so slowly, the loft was getting more comfortable to hang out in as well, with ridiculous amounts of food in the fridge and new bits of furniture appearing seemingly out of nowhere every time Stiles went over. A bookcase, an armchair, a rug, even a kitschy photograph of a full moon on the wall that Isaac cackled about when Stiles asked.

The one piece of normal living room furniture that never showed up was a television. Instead, Isaac would bring up a movie on his shiny new laptop, a heavy-duty thing that he used to play games that Stiles hadn’t let him download onto his own computer. Around the beginning of June, regular movie nights were becoming something of a routine.

“Why’re we watching _Hocus Pocus_?” Jackson asked into Isaac’s shoulder. He’d been draped over him like a blanket for the last thirty minutes of the movie.

Stiles snorted, “Cus’ it’s a classic, Jackass.”

“It’s nowhere near Halloween, Stilinski. Do you not understand the concept of seasonal films?”

Isaac groaned and flicked Jackson’s arm. “Don’t get pretentious, Jack. It’s _Hocus Pocus_. Just enjoy it.”

When Jackson slowly grappled the back of the couch so he could stand up, Stiles didn’t do more than lift the legs he’d propped on the coffee table and tuck them against his chest long enough for Jackson to pass by. He refused to think of it as a nice gesture. He was just keeping himself from getting bruised when Jackson inevitably kicked his feet out of the way.

“Stilinski, what’s the time?”

“Don’t call me that,” Stiles replied reflexively, not looking away from the screen or answering the question.

“What time is it, Stilinski?” Jackson repeated from near the kitchen. It took less than nothing to piss him off, since he still didn’t have an anchor, but that was no different than the rest of the time Stiles had known him.

The name pricked at Stiles, and he grit his teeth. “I said, don’t _call_ me that, Jackass.”

“Fine. What time is it, _Mieczysław?_ ”

Stiles’ body flooded with ice cold sparks.

* * *

When Isaac had the others over, Derek kept his distance. It was easier on him and easier on them if he just left them to be idiots in the living room and read a book on his—new and above the floor, thank god—bed. Sometimes he used his own laptop to watch how-to videos for the last few fixes the apartment needed, keeping the volume off to avoid Stiles’ mocking.

Just listening to them was like poking a fresh bruise, giving him little flashes of memories with his brother and sisters that managed to hurt in a good way. Watching them pile on each other made his heart ache and his fingers itch to reach out, but the thought was dispelled by the reality of distress that any actual touch would bring.

He only got the slightest warning before things went to shit one night, a hint in the uptick of Jackson’s heartbeat before he said _something_ that sent Stiles into a fury not unlike the way he’d attacked Chris at the warehouse. Derek looked up in time to see Stiles vault the coffee table in one jump and slam into Jackson so hard they both went down.

“ _Shut the fuck up!_ ” Stiles roared, bringing his fist down on Jackson’s cheek in a perfectly formed punch that snapped Jackson’s neck to the side. “Shut up!”

Apparently the shock of the attack was enough to keep Jackson still, because he didn’t block Stiles’ first hit, or his second. It wasn’t until the third that he started fighting back, snarling at the way Stiles had managed to pin his arms down with his knees.

By then, Derek was standing over them. “Stiles, stop!” He wanted to drag Stiles off, but the last time he’d done it Stiles had shouted like something feral.

Stiles punched Jackson again. “You motherfucking, son of a—”

Then Stiles was on the floor and Jackson was on top of him, baring fangs and reaching for Stiles’ throat. Him, Derek didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about yanking up by the back of his jacket and lifting away, holding him in the air while Isaac dive-bombed Stiles to keep him from going after Jackson again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Derek shouted.

Under Isaac’s grip, Stiles writhed to get free, his eyes blazing with fury. “You piece of shit, _bastard_.”

Jackson roared and kicked out at Derek’s knee, shocking Derek into dropping him. He got two steps forward with his claws heading for Stiles’ chest before Derek could pull him back again and force him down to his knees.

“Knock it _off_. Both of you!” he shouted again, letting some Alpha bleed into his tone to get the point across.

There were silent tears streaming down both of their faces and blood dripping from Jackson’s nose, but Stiles didn’t stop struggling against Isaac’s alarmed grip and Jackson was growling as badly as he had on the full moon.

Very suddenly, Derek realized that he should have fucking _asked_ why Jackson and Stiles hated each other so much. Clearly fighting over Lydia wasn’t the whole story.

He couldn’t even remember what Jackson had done to start this off. Shaking Jackson’s shoulder, he glared down at his tear-filled blue eyes. “Jackson, shift down.”

Like usual, Jackson obeyed, melting to his mortal shift and no longer trying to get away, but panting hard.

“What did you say to him?”

Jackson tried to scoff, but it turned into an actual cough and then a sniffle as he covered his bloody nose. “I just said his fucking _name_.”

“That’s not my name!” Stiles hissed, his heart clipping over it as though he’d tried to say the sky was red. “My name is Stiles, you—”

“Stiles!” Derek barked, but they were off again, lobbing insults instead of trying to beat each other to death. It wasn’t much of an improvement.

“No it isn’t! You’re such fucking coward, Stilinski!” Jackson shouted. “What kind of piece of shit refuses to use the name his fucking _mother_ gave him?”

Stiles actually managed to scoff. “Don’t act like you’re doing this for some _moral_ reason, you flaming garbage pile. You literally only do it to piss me off! I warned you what would happen if you didn’t shut your fucking face.”

With a gentle shove to make sure Jackson didn’t try to start the fight again, Derek let him go and went over to Stiles, who’d squirmed his way into sitting in Isaac’s lap, with Isaac’s arms criss-crossed over his chest from behind. “Stiles. Stop.”

Slowly, Stiles stilled and turned to tuck his face against Isaac’s bicep, avoiding eye contact.

Derek nodded at Isaac to let go and crouched. “Stiles. I know you were lying. What is your given name?”

Stiles’ eyes shot to him, narrow and pissed. “I wasn’t lying. It’s not my—”

“What is your _given name_?”

Growling in frustration, Stiles jerked his way to his feet, so Derek stood up as well, just like he did with the Betas on the full moon. Show no weakness. “My _given name_ is Mieczysław Claudia Stilinski. My _actual_ name is Stiles.”

Jackson snorted as he wiped his nose and brushed nonexistent dust off his knees. “See? I told you. He didn’t start this ‘Stiles’ shit until McCall came around.”

When Stiles tensed, Derek prepared himself to hold Stiles back, screaming or no.

Instead, Stiles’ voice turned to steel. “No, I started it after my mom died and my dad wouldn’t say my name anymore.”

The instant regret on Jackson’s face would’ve been comical if Derek weren’t so horrified.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” Stiles asked, stepping forward just far enough that Isaac grabbed the tail of his shirt. “That my dad can’t bring himself to say my _fucking_ name, so I had to make up a nickname for him to use instead?”

“But—”

“And where do you get off, huh? You can’t tell your own parents you _love them_ because they adopted you, but somehow _I’m_ fucked up because I want to use a nickname? How is that any of your business? We haven’t been friends since the fifth grade, Jackson, so you can fuck _right off_ with you righteous ‘I know you better than anyone’ routine.”

With Jackson frozen solid, Stiles twisted to the side away from Isaac and headed for the door, snatching up his socks and shoes without stopping to put them on.

No one moved as Stiles stormed out of the loft, not until Isaac sidled up to Jackson and gave Derek a pointed look. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to go after him or something.”

Derek glanced at the door. “I doubt he wants company. Leave him alone, for now.”

Jackson swallowed softly before whispering, “Fuck, _I didn’t_ —”

“Yeah, Jack,” Isaac sighed. “No one knew.”

* * *

After a night of hiding in his room with the window locked and the blinds closed, Stiles headed downstairs to answer the doorbell with a quip on his tongue about rewards for learning to use doors.

He could do this. If he just pretended nothing was wrong, they could forget it ever happened. Isaac was good about laying off the heavy stuff.

Only it wasn’t Isaac at the door, which just proved Stiles needed to stop making assumptions about who was coming to visit him. Now that he had more friends than just Scott and Heather, he kept getting it wrong.

“Get off my property.”

“Dude.”

“Seriously, leave now or I’m calling the cops.”

“Your dad wouldn’t let me be arrested for coming here.”

Slamming the door seemed like the best response to that, but Jackson shoved it back open. “Look, if—if I call you Stiles can I just come in and talk to you? Derek said I have to.”

Stiles grimaced. “Why do you always do what Derek tells you? You’re worse than Isaac.”

“Don’t change the subject. Can I come in, Stiles?”

He didn’t look like he was making fun of Stiles. His eyes were big and that dumb smirk was missing. He wasn’t even dressed up, compared to his usual. He just had one of Isaac’s hoodies on and a pair of black sweats. His hair was still floppy. Ugh, why did floppy hair tell Stiles so much about this douchebag?

“Fine.” Swinging around to pull the door open, Stiles let Jackson into the house and shut the door behind him. “Go up to my room. If my dad sees you here he’ll think I actually give a fuck about you.”

“Is he here?”

“No, but I’m not taking any risks.”

Nodding, Jackson headed for the stairs like he’d never stopped coming over, leaving Stiles to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and follow at a much slower pace.

Jackson was already sitting on Stiles’ bed, right in Isaac’s favorite spot, like he’d sniffed it out. Which…he probably had. “Dude, what’s with the bottle? You don’t own cups?”

Stiles took a drink as spitefully as he could, throwing Jackson a look while he gulped. When he’d made his point, he recapped it and sat at his desk. “You gonna yell at me about leaving my computer charger plugged in too? Since when are you an environmentalist?”

“Since—goddamnit, why are you so distracting?”

Stiles shrugged. “Talent of mine.”

“I didn’t know, alright?” Jackson snapped. As soon as the words were out, he deflated. “I—I thought you were just doing the ‘Stiles’ thing because you were being pretentious or something. I didn’t know your—you had a reason.”

Jabbing at the bottle he’d set on the desk with a finger, Stiles didn’t look at Jackson as he spoke. “That shouldn’t fucking matter. Nobody knows. I shouldn’t have to tell you something—” he choked at the sudden memory of Erica shoving him into Boyd’s front door, “something _Scott_ doesn’t even know, just to make you back off.”

He got it now, _oh_ how he got it. Stiles scrubbed his hand over his forehead and closed his eyes. “Why do you have to be such a douchebag? Fucking hell, right in front of them?”

Jackson’s voice was barely above a growl, “You were being an asshole. You always just piss me off.”

When Stiles opened his eyes to glare incredulously at him, Jackson was busy looking at the floor. “Are you kidding? _I_ piss _you_ off? You’re the one who’s been making my life hell since the fifth grade! What did I ever do to you?”

“You _left_ me!” Jackson snapped. His eyes were blue when he made eye contact with Stiles. “You were my only fucking friend and you just bailed over nothing!”

Stiles jumped to his feet. “I was ten years old and my mom fucking _died_ , Jackson.”

For once the words didn’t elicit the guilty face Stiles was used to. Jackson didn’t back down even an inch. He stood up too and pointed a claw at the floor as he shouted, “And I was seven months younger than you and had just found out _both_ my parents were dead. That I didn’t havea mom or dad, and the people who raised me had to pick me out of a social services listing after hearing my sob story. That I was a _pity_ child. And when I told my best friendabout it, you screamed at me and _left_.”

He shook his head and moved his point toward the window. “A week later McCall moved to town and you never looked back. I’d just found out that my parents weren’t technically my parents and I had _no one_. I was just this dyslexic loser with no friends for months until Danny sat next to me at lunch.

And you didn’t just leave, Mieszko—no, of course you didn’t. You turned into a totally different person. It was like you never existed! New best friend, new reputation, new name. I couldn’t even tell other people I knew you because I couldn’t figure out what the hell a ‘Stiles’ was. So, I called you Stilinski.”

Stiles sank back into his chair and just stared. After a second, Jackson dropped down to the bed again. The silence that fell over the room was stiff and awkward, and Stiles had no idea what to do about it.

“I can’t believe you still remember how to say it,” he finally muttered.

“It took me like a week to get the pronunciation right the first time; I don’t plan on having to relearn it.”

Clearing his throat, Stiles bit the bullet. “I didn’t…when you told me…I was barely functioning, and my dad didn’t know what to do with me so he just sent me back to school. And you just…it felt like you were bragging somehow. About how you had four parents while I only had one. About how you got _chosen_ , while my dad was stuck with me.”

“Jesus, Mieszko, I wasn’t—”

“I know that!” Stiles interrupted. “Now. It just…with my ADHD, everything just…stupid random shit feels like someone’s yelling at me. Everything feels like a jab and it’s so frustrating. I can’t think clearly when I’m pissed off, it just sort of—takes over. I was mad and that was all that mattered. And being angry was easier than dealing with everything else going on in my head. I’m sorry, okay?”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you always have to bring up your ADHD when you do something wrong?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes back. “Because it’s a neurological disorder that affects literally everything in my brain. Do you know how _hard_ feelings are? There’s no regulation. I couldn’t make myself cry for two days after the funeral, and then I cried for a week. My dad almost had to take me back to the hospital because I was _dehydrated_. You’d think a ‘dyslexic loser’ would get what it’s like to have something people only associate with bad grades fuck up every aspect of your life.”

“Fair point.” Jackson flopped backward onto the bed like that was the end of it.

More silence, then Stiles felt the need to mention, “I’m still mad at you.”

Jackson snorted. “Yeah, well I’m still mad at you too, asshole.”

“Being mad at you for six years is exhausting.”

“Yup.”

“Scoot over.”

Groaning, Jackson shuffled over enough for Stiles to climb on the bed and lay next to him, squinting at the ceiling. “I’m not gonna lie and say that I didn’t mean to leave you behind, dude. Because I did. That was definitely something I did on purpose. Scott showed up and he was…new, you know? He was a completely blank slate. He didn’t know my mom. He didn’t know you or how shitty everything was. He didn’t even know my name. I just wanted to start over. So, I told him my name was Stiles and he never asked about the real one. It was easier than trying to fix anything with you.”

Jackson elbowed him, but it was actually gentle. “And you call me the douchebag.”

“You’ve been shoving me into lockers for years, and don’t pretend you don’t aim for my head during practice. We’re both douchebags.”

“Miesz—uh, Stiles—”

“You can call me that, if you’re gonna be so pathetic about it.”

Jackson’s eyes bored into him from the side. “Seriously? You literally tried to beat my face in yesterday.”

Stiles shrugged. “You were trying to humiliate me. This is different. If you tell anyone, I’ll fucking kill you, but…I—I kinda miss it.”

An arm shoved itself under Stiles’ neck and pulled him into Jackson’s side in a half-assed hug. “Of course you do, dumbass. It’s your _name_.”

—

Being in the loft when Derek wasn’t there was kinda intimidating sometimes. Sure, Isaac was there, and he _lived_ there so it wasn’t like Stiles was trespassing, but it still managed to feel like he was wandering through school after hours.

“Where is he, anyway?” he asked, poking at the lasagna Isaac had practically shoved at him once he got in the door. “I thought he didn’t like leaving you home alone?”

Isaac scoffed. “Come on, we’ve totally moved past that. He trusts me.”

“You told him I was on the way over, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

“Thought so.”

With a scowl, Isaac pushed away his own empty plate. “It doesn’t even make any sense. You’re human, how’re you supposed to protect me? If he’s that worried about me, why doesn’t he make Peter be here too?”

Stiles was about to argue that he could _totally_ protect Isaac, but stopped at the last sentence. “Peter? What are you talking about? Peter shouldn’t be anywhere _near_ you.”

Isaac shrugged. “I really don’t get your issue. Like, I get that he’s clearly some kind of awful, but he’s been acting pretty fucking harmless. He’s kinda…weird. But he’s still helping us and he hangs out here when Derek needs to go brood or something.”

“Helping you?”

“Were you not listening on the full moon? He’s been helping search for Erica and Boyd since day one. Seriously, sometimes he gets here and just passes out on the couch because he was running through the Preserve.”

The words irked Stiles on so many levels, he couldn’t even describe them all. Peter was dangerous. Derek _knew_ this, so why was he letting his uncle anywhere near Isaac?

Before he could think it through, Stiles twirled his fork on his plate and grinned at Isaac’s wince as the metal scraped against ceramic. “Listen, if Peter’s gonna be around all the time, would you just give him my number? It’ll make things easier if Derek makes him deliver a message or something.”

Isaac raised a brow. “You were _just_ arguing that he shouldn’t be near us. Now you want him to have your phone number?”

“Duh,” Stiles sighed. “If he has my number then he has no excuse to hunt me down again. Besides, it’s an ‘in case’ thing. Always plan for the worst.”

“Alright, fucking weirdo,” Isaac snorted. “Are you gonna help me make these brownies or what? Derek always looks like he’s gonna have an aneurysm when I make boxed baked goods. It’s my only joy in life.”

Patting his stomach, Stiles sent Isaac a wink and stood up. “Far be it from me to deny you joy. I get half.”

“You get like two.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Deal.”

—

**Unknown: I have to say, Stiles, I’m pleasantly surprised.**

Stiles’ lip curled in disgust as he looked down at the new message on his phone. He’d almost forgotten that he’d asked Isaac to give Peter his number, and now that it’d happened, he already regretted it.

_Don’t b. We need 2 talk._

**Peter Hell: Sounds fun. Would you like me to wait for your father to leave?**

Stiles jumped up from his desk and looked out the window, only for his phone to buzz again.

**Peter Hell: I’m not at your house, Stiles. I drove by earlier and saw his car outside.**

**__** _Stay away frm my house nd my dad or I’ll kill u._

**Peter Hell: You use that threat way too often. Come up with something new, won’t you?**

**Peter Hell: If not your house, where are we supposed to meet?**

**__** _The house in the Preserve, in an hour._

**Peter Hell: As you wish.**

The text was followed by an actual thumbs up emoji, and Stiles couldn’t figure out whether the accidental reference or the emoji usage freaked him out more.

Eventually, he brushed it off and went to grab his backpack, double checking the jar of wolfsbane in it. He wasn’t entirely sure what it would do to someone who wasn’t already poisoned, but it was the only defense he had. Some more of that mountain ash would be helpful, but when Stiles had gone by the rave warehouse a couple weeks ago, there’d been no sign of the precious circle he’d created, and he wasn’t willing to ask Deaton for any. The guy still weirded him out.

He arrived exactly on time, since he couldn’t decide whether it was safer to arrive early or late. Early meant he might not notice when Peter showed up, and late would give Peter time to get a bunch of backup ready or set a trap. So, on time it was.

Peter was already there, sitting on the porch steps.

“Stiles!” he said, almost cheerily, like they were friends or something. “What can I do for you?” He looked around then, actually scanning the trees. “You’re by yourself, then? I’m amazed Derek’s letting you in the Preserve without supervision.”

However happy he was to be in Derek’s pack, Stiles wasn’t a fan of being told what to do, but his retort cut away at the sight of a big, jagged looking triskele slathered over the front door of the house. “What—What is that?”

Raising a brow, Peter turned to look at it, then back. “That would be the Alpha pack’s symbol. They wanted to leave a nice little message to let us know where your pack members were.” He waved a hand. “I was thinking of painting over it. If I’m going to keep having to meet you all out here, I might as well fix up the place, don’t you think?”

“Why are you here? What do you want from Derek?” Stiles asked.

The explosive sigh Peter let out was unexpected. He threw up his hands as well and spoke to the sky. “Why does everyone keep _asking_ me that?”

When he dropped his gaze from the clouds it was with a long-suffering look. “I don’t suppose you would believe me if I told you that I was here to help, would you?”

Apparently the look on Stiles’ face said enough.

“Of course, not. Why would you?” Peter huffed, slapping his hands down on his knees.

“Exactly,” Stiles snapped. He was tired of Peter’s little monologues. “Why the hell would I ever believe that after what you did? You _murdered_ people, Peter, you don’t get to walk around expecting anybody to think you have Derek’s best interests in mind.”

However much Stiles had managed to annoy Peter in their few short times together, he didn’t think he’d ever actually made him angry. This looked pretty damn angry.

In an instant, Peter was far closer than the ten foot perimeter Stiles had requested, glaring down their miniscule height difference in a way that made Stiles feel about two feet tall.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarled. “Do you really think I need a teenage boy to remind me that my own nephew thinks that I’m out for his blood?”

“Why shouldn’t he? Wouldn’t be the—” Stiles stopped talking when Peter’s eyes turned an icy blue. They were so similar to how Derek’s used to be, the couple times Stiles had seen them, but where Derek had almost seemed to hide them by shifting his eyes back down after a single moment, Peter glared him down for a good ten seconds before finding his cool.

Derek had _long_ since stopped scaring Stiles, but Peter was a whole other beast. Literally. Stiles could still remember how he’d looked as an Alpha and it wasn’t a vision he was interested in seeing again anytime soon.

Peter could clearly tell Stiles was nervous, and his smile was bitter as he glanced around again. “You clearly consider me a threat, Stiles. So tell me, why did you come alone?”

Stiles’ shoulder twitched instinctively, unsettling his bag. The next second it was gone, flying across the yard to land on a half dead bush.

“Don’t tell me you were relying entirely on a strand of wolfsbane that would take _days_ to kill me? It took two Molotovs for you to put me down last time.”

He had a point. Somehow it hadn’t crossed Stiles’ mind how long it would take to kick in even if it did work.

“I told Derek where I was going,” he said through gritted teeth. It wasn’t a lie. He had told Derek, in a note that was currently sitting in his desk drawer.

Peter paused for almost a whole two seconds, then grinned like a shark. Or, rather, a wolf. “Oh did you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him in person?”

Stiles curled his fingers into a fist before biting out, “No.”

“Over the phone, maybe?” Peter asked.

Shit. “No.”

Peter nodded, then looked up at the sky for a second. “Tell me, Stiles. Does Derek _know_ you’re here?”

“I told him—”

“Yes, yes, you told him. But does he _know_?”

Stiles looked at the ground.

With a disappointed sigh, Peter stepped back. “You’re supposed to be the smart one. Don’t try to lie to me. You shouldn’t have come to the Preserve alone.”

He wasn’t being attacked, so Stiles didn’t try to control his tone. “I’m not gonna let you brainwash Derek like you did last time.”

“I didn’t brainwash him,” Peter snapped. He was still angry, and all his sarcastic snark was cracking. “He’s my _nephew_.”

“And Laura was your niece!” Stiles shouted.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her!” Peter’s roar made even him startle to look at the trees. The Alpha pack was a danger to all of them, including Peter. When he’d decided it was safe, he glanced back at Stiles, then scoffed and stormed away toward the house.

Stiles followed him right up to the steps. “Peter, that is possibly the sickest joke you’ve ever made.”

But Peter didn’t look like he was joking. He looked like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest. “Leave.”

“You’re…you’re serious? How could—how does that even _work_?”

“Stiles, leave before I do something I’ll regret.” His voice was soft and deadly as he tried to walk away again.

“No! Tell me what you mean!”

With another roar, Peter turned on him, and Stiles scrambled backwards, falling on his ass. All of his poking was finally going to get him killed. Why couldn’t Stiles learn to shut the hell up?

They stared at each other for a second, Peter in full fang and Stiles trying to make his heart stop pounding out of his chest. Then, Peter’s fangs melted away.

“It was an accident,” he said. “Or…it wasn’t. But it was.”

Not moving, Stiles squinted at him. “You’re not making any sense.”

“You don’t understand how _painful_ it is to be separated from one’s pack, as a wolf. Erica and Boyd, a few months is nothing compared to _six years_ without my Alpha.” Peter again backed up, but it was more of a stumble, while he gazed around like he was lost. “When I finally started healing enough to shift on the full moon, I barely had the presence of mind not to reveal myself to the entire hospital. I was hanging on by a thread.

“And when Jennifer dragged me out to the woods—”

Stiles had been slowly shifting to actually sit in the dirt, and while he brushed the little rocks that were sticking to his palms off, he interrupted. “Wait, wait, Jennifer dragged _you_? She was your minion.”

Peter glared at him. “I couldn’t _move_ , Stiles, not unless it was a full moon, and even then I had the mobility of a toddler. It wasn’t exactly difficult for her to shove my wheelchair out the door.”

“But what about the deer? And the picture that brought Laura to town?” Scott had explained a little of what he’d found out about Jennifer getting a copy of the report from Deaton.

“Again,” Peter snapped, “incapable of _movement_. You think I had the focus and control to carve a perfect spiral into a deer’s side? Let alone force the human who kept me _alive_ to send an e-mail for me?”

“But you drew it on the window of Scott’s car!”

“After I was an Alpha!” His tone was rising again. “When the wolf wanted nothing but revenge.”

This entire conversation was like being hit over the head, then asked to count out multiples of seven. “The wolf?”

“My wolf.”

“I thought—Derek always says you guys don’t have a ‘wolf.’ That you’re not part wolf, part human, just all werewolf.”

A cruel smile spread across Peter’s face. “Exactly, so you can imagine the kind of monster that appeared when Jennifer split me in half. Do you think my full shift has always looked like that?”

“Jennifer—”

“Tore my psyche in half and left both parts completely demented. One mindless beast, one twisted human. And then she sicc’d me on the Alpha who’d abandoned me in a hospital and ran across the country.”

Stiles was nauseous, but he didn’t move. “That’s why you killed Laura? Why you killed Jennifer?”

“I knew enough to want to put myself back together, but it didn’t fix itself with her death. So, I fixed it with mine.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Peter.” Stiles climbed to his feet. “Let me get this straight. Jennifer, the _nurse_ , carved up a deer, then delivered a picture of it to lure Laura to town, then forced a Jeckel and Hyde situation on you, but with two Hydes. All so she could make a mostly paralyzed wolf murder his niece and then let him go on a killing spree?” He crossed his arms. “I gotta say, that’s the most elaborate and outrageous lie I’ve ever heard. Seriously, living with werewolves hasn’t stunted your abilities at all.”

Peter’s lip twitched into a snarl. “The killing spree was just a way for her to keep me busy. I was a guard dog, just like Jackson.”

That pulled Stiles up short. It _was_ eerily familiar to Jackson’s story. Gerard had been around for most of the time Jackson was a kanima, but only killed Matt and took control when it was convenient for him. He’d let Matt keep Jackson distracted. “Isaac told me Gerard wanted Jackson to help him get the bite from Derek. To deal with an Alpha that he couldn’t overpower on his own. What the hell would Jennifer want that she had to have a feral Alpha on a leash to get it?”

“Not what. Who.”

“Okay, who?”

Peter squinted at him. “Who came running to our territory as soon as they heard there was a new Hale Alpha?”

Stiles shrugged. “The hunters?”

“Who _else_?”

A shiver of fear worked its way down Stiles’ spine. “The Alphas? She was after the Alphas, so she needed an Alpha of her own?”

Tipping his head to the side in agreement, Peter waved his hand a little. “I bet you’re glad she’s dead now, aren’t you?”

For a second, Stiles tried to backtrack, all the way to the original reason that he’d come here. “So, that’s why Derek is letting you around Isaac and having you help him?”

“No, he’s doing that because I’m still not at full power, so I would have no chance of beating him in a fight, and because his only other choice for help is two teenage bitten wolves.”

Stiles twisted his face up. “Why would Derek be worried about you getting in a fight with him if he knows—” he snapped his fingers and immediately changed direction, shaking his head. “He doesn’t know, does he? You didn’t tell him.”

Peter grimaced. “No, and I have no intention to.”

“But _why_?” Stiles groaned. “Do you just like soaking in all this man-pain or what? Why the hell wouldn’t you want Derek to know that you were being manipulated?”

“Because I still did it!” Peter stepped toward Stiles and jabbed a finger at him. “I may not have wanted to kill Laura, but I still wanted to _hurt_ her. I was devastated and furious and I still committed the worst atrocity a wolf can commit. I will not guilt my nephew into forgiving me when he has _every right_ to hate me. I will stay, I will help, and I will pay penance for what I’ve done. And _you_ will not tell him, Stiles. Do you understand me? I like you—”

Even knowing that Peter was slightly less awful than he’d thought, that was still gross to hear.

“But if you betray me in this, I will have no qualms about making you regret it. This is not your secret to tell.”

Swallowing hard, Stiles nodded. “Got it.”

* * *

The closer Isaac got to Jackson and Stiles, the more confident he got. In everything. Right down to bugging the crap out of Derek.

Most of the time it was something relatively easy to brush off. Random facts Isaac wanted to know about Derek or about werewolves in general. Could werewolves have allergies to non-magical things? Why didn’t werewolves get weaker on new moons if they got stronger on full moons? Why did Derek wear so many sweaters if his normal temperature was so hot?

But sometimes, it hit too close to home.

“What did you do during the summer? When you were a kid, I mean?” Isaac asked, jabbing at his cereal with his spoon. “You didn’t seriously sit in your room and read the entire summer, right? I mean, didn’t you say you had a sister?”

It was a hard question to get first thing in the morning, and Derek had to blow out a slow breath before he could answer. “We—I spent most of my time in the Preserve, actually. Running or swimming—”

“Swimming?” Isaac perked up, dropping his spoon. “Like in a lake? Cus’ I’m not going near a pool; it stinks.”

“Lakes aren’t much better,” Derek pointed out. “They mostly smell like dead fish.”

Isaac just waved it off. “Yeah, but it’s not _chlorine_. What lake did you go to?”

Derek blinked at him. “Uh… _our_ lake?”

“You owned a _lake?_ ”

“Only technically. We own the land around it. We never stopped hikers from using it though.”

Squinting, Isaac leaned forward. “Own, as in present-tense? As in you _still_ own it?”

Derek nodded and braced himself for the inevitable question.

Isaac was practically vibrating, bouncing on his toes and completely ignoring his soggy cereal. “Can we go?”

“You’re not going anywhere alone,” Derek warned. “If you’re not finishing that, put your dishes away.”

Grabbing at his bowl so fast the milk nearly splashed out, Isaac headed to the sink. “Yeah, stupid, that’s why I said _‘we.’_ I mean all of us. I can call Jackson and Stiles; that way you can be overprotective of everyone at once, just like you like.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, just one that made Derek’s stomach ache. He hadn’t been near the lake since coming back to Beacon Hills. Way too many memories. But Isaac was looking at him again, somehow managing to convey the same emotion as he’d had when he was sitting in the ruins of Derek’s home and saying, “It was yours. That makes it ours.” It was like Isaac was determined to bury himself in being a Hale, no matter how painful it was for Derek.

“Do you even own swim trunks?” Derek finally asked.

Isaac smirked. “Do _you_?”

—

Isaac took back the dismissal of dead fish smells before the lake ever came into view, clamping a hand over his nose and groaning with his whole body so that he nearly fell into a tree. “How do you stand it?”

Smirking, Derek glanced over at Jackson, who wasn’t quite as overwhelmed but still had his nose covered. “You get used to it.”

The closer they got to the lake, the more excited Jackson and Isaac got and at the first glimpse of shimmering green water, they both dashed off. Stiles stayed behind.

He’d smelled off since arriving at the loft to hitch a ride; more anxious than usual and jumpy even with Isaac, but he’d still come along without complaint. Instead of a towel, he had a blanket over his arm, and his ever-present backpack hiked up on his shoulder. Now that they’d actually reached the small shore, Stiles’ scent went bitter. He didn’t even look at the water, just went to drop down on a relatively clear section of dry sand.

He didn’t look bad enough that Derek felt like he needed to do anything, so instead he headed for a specific boulder that he could remember jumping off of in high school. It stuck out over the water far enough that jumping put him past the shallows.

Already waist deep in the water, Jackson flicked a wet hand toward the shore. “Meiszko, you coming?”

The name was new, but it was the reconciliation between Stiles and Jackson that had thrown Derek when they showed up at the loft. Gone was the tension and the sharp edged comments. Now there was just this name, and the uncertainty of whether or not Derek was supposed to use it or avoid it. Sitting down to get his shoes off, Derek watched the interaction.

“Do I look like I’m dressed to hop in a lake?” Stiles asked, stretched out on the blanket already, with his phone in hand.

“You look like you haven’t seen the sun in years. Come on, white-belly,” Jackson pushed.

Stiles had one leg hooked up on his knee, and his foot bounced lightly as he answered, “I don’t swim anymore, Jackson. Don’t splash me.”

Miraculously, Jackson dropped the subject immediately, nodding shortly and turning away to slosh and then swim to where Isaac was up to his chest. 

“Is the pet name exclusive?” Isaac asked. He sunk down a little as he waited for an answer, until only his nose and up were visible.

Stiles propped himself up on an elbow. “Uh, are you talking to me?”

Isaac revealed his mouth again. “Duh. Is the pet name exclusive to Jack, or do we get to call you Meeshco too?”

Even from almost fifty feet away, Derek could see Stiles’ face turn red. “Why would you wanna do that?”

“Cus’ it’s your name, dumbass,” Jackson called. “We’ve been over this.” He turned to Isaac and shuffled closer to mutter, “It’s Mieszko, not Meeshco.”

Isaac frowned. “M—what?”

“Mieszko,” Jackson repeated slowly.

“Mieshko.”

“No, dude. Mye-shko.”

Isaac looked over at Stiles. “Well? I’m not learning how to pronounce this if you’re gonna punch me for using it.”

Stiles’ groan didn’t cover up the clear embarrassment in his tone. “Uh, sure dude. If you really wanna. Just…not in public.”

“Mieszko,” Isaac called proudly. “Got it!”

Stiles covered up his face. “Yup. I’m gonna regret this.”

While the others lapsed into their own conversations, or in Stiles’ case, phone games, Derek resettled himself on the rock and looked out at the lake.

Six years didn’t make much difference out here. The trees that curled around the edges of the shore were a little taller, a little thicker. Some were blown down. But the water itself was the same as always. If he unfocused his eyes, Derek could practically see the waves and the splashes of Cora kicking wildly every time Laura let go of her while she tried to teach her to float. Letting one foot hang over the edge of the boulder, still a foot or two above the waterline, Derek almost jerked at the memory of Lucas yanking him down to the water before diving back down to go sneak up on someone else.

Prue and Peter had traded off watching Bastian most of the time in Derek’s freshman year, leaving one of them free to throw a foam football across the water so Derek could race Lucas and Laura toward it while Cora shouted for her current favorite sibling on the sideline. Even after Paige, Cora still picked him most often to cheer for.

He’d refused to come in sophomore year. As soon as the water was warm enough for a wolf they’d started heading out on the weekends, but he’d stayed behind. He’d thought he had better things to do.

Shaking his head, Derek yanked off his shirt and tossed it down to the beach with his shoes. She wasn’t going to ruin this for him.

Derek cannonballed into the water, letting the entire world go dark and cold and just a little slimy as he sank beneath the surface. When he was Cora’s age, he’d been terrified of deep water, sure that something would come out of the darkness to drag him down to oblivion. Laura and Lucas had teased him mercilessly, slinking under the water to grab at his ankles and pinch his legs. It was Peter who’d reminded him, too sarcastic to be particularly kind, but a lot less judgemental, that should anything come after Derek, his pack would rip it to shreds. Why fear, when he had pack to protect him?

When he’d sunk as far as he wanted, Derek finally bothered to uncurl and swam back up to the surface, the water around him growing lighter even though everything stayed tinted a dark green. There was a face above the water, hovering over the edge of the boulder with their mouth moving.

“Derek!” Stiles’ voice crashed over him as he came up for air. “Jesus Christ!”

Whipping his hair out of his face with a shake of his head, Derek squinted up at him. “What?”

“You—Derek, you don’t float,” Stiles snapped. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m swimming, Stiles. I don’t need to float when I can swim.” To prove the point, Derek did a quick backstroke, only to stop as he noticed how panicked Stiles looked. “Wh—” he cut himself off as he started to understand. “Stiles, I can swim. I’ve been swimming since I was a kid.”

Derek was an excellent swimmer, so long as he wasn’t being paralyzed by kanima venom.

Kicking himself a little closer, Derek frowned. “Is that why you won’t come in?”

Now that he understood what the pulling at his bond was, Derek knew that Stiles had panicked even worse than he’d thought when they fell in the water, but he didn’t know it was affecting Stiles this much. There was no doubt that they’d both nearly died, but Stiles hadn’t shown any trepidation about everything else that had almost killed them, so why was a few hours in a pool messing him up this badly?

“No,” Stiles scoffed, even as his hand jerked away from a patch of wetness on the rock. “I just don’t swim, alright?”

“You swam just fine at the—”

“I said _don’t_ , Derek, not _can’t_. I fucking hate water, okay? Just—don’t scare me like that.” Stiles’ head disappeared, and then he was back on the beach, his blanket barely visible from Derek’s position.

A quick glance Jackson and Isaac’s way told him they’d been listening in, so Derek just shrugged at them and swam in their direction. Above water, never disappearing underneath it.

Stiles didn’t like water. Noted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes:  
> Yes, I made Stiles' middle name 'Claudia.' I was doing some research on Polish names, and found a few sources that mentioned how common it is to have your parent's (mothers?) name as your middle name? It seemed fitting, really. Also, the nickname/shortened name for Mieczysław is Meiszko, pronounced (Mye-shko) as far as I can tell? It's adorable and I've loved it ever since I first looked up the name.  
> *Pikachu gasp* the truth comes out about the long-awaited Stiles and Jackson friendship lore! \O_O/  
> If you thought mentions of Stiles' ADHD were going to be any less prevalent in this fic...you _are_ wrong. I'm having a BLAST talking about it so much. XP  
> Also, PETER. The king of man-pain! The secretive extraordinaire! This bitch! Seriously, I had to. There was so much about what Peter did in S1 that didn't make any goddamn sense. All the information they gave us led back to his NURSE not to Peter himself. And there was the whole paralyzed thing, which no one will convince me wasn't real, bc if it was a fake then why would Peter raise his finger after Derek left the room? What would be the point of that? Whatever, this is my new concept of canon. XP But I also didn't want to absolve Peter of his guilt and blame, because he still did do the things, and they were horrible. This was my compromise.  
> I am _living_ for getting to throw in little memories for Derek with his siblings/family. It's so much fun to give the Hales _life_.
> 
> I'm so happy to see you guys enjoying this! I do wanna disclaim though that I have some specific concepts of how this is going to move forward, and it may not be the way other people want to see it go? I don't begrudge anyone who decides that they don't like where the plotline is going, or one of the changes from canon that I've made, or even the way I've chosen to characterize different people. As much as I want this rewrite to be a sort of 'improvement' on TW, I won't pretend that it's possible to please everyone, so I'm focusing on pleasing myself at least. XD
> 
> On a similar note, next week's chapter is going to be...different in content. I hope you like it!


	5. Exposure Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys. This chapter is a lil shorter than the others so far, but that's because it's another chapter focusing on a specific moment/time so just bear with me.  
> I spent....a long time trying to get this chapter right, and I really hope it comes across the way I intended (though I know that's not going to be possible for Everyone, I'm hoping for a majority) and that you guys like it. Anyway, I'll talk a little more about it at the end so you guys can get to reading.

Stiles noticed some weird parallels between this situation and the day he’d told Scott he was a werewolf, while he was waiting for Derek to show up. Once again, he was sitting at his desk with piles of printed research and tabs open on his computer, waiting for someone to come to his room so he could say something that would probably royally piss them off. But where Stiles’ impulses usually faded after doing a few hours of research, he was still completely sure he wanted to go through with this. Or at least give Derek the option.

When the doorbell rang, Stiles actually almost wished Derek had come through the window so he wouldn’t have to get up and ruin the fragile stillness he’d been working on. Instead, he jumped to his feet and headed down to open the front door.

“Hey, Derek, nice door skills,” he greeted, leaning against the door and shoving a hand in his pocket. “What’s up?”

“Stiles, you texted me, not the other way around.”

“Right! Yeah, so just…” Stiles stepped back and waved his hand to let Derek in. “Dad’s not home, so you won’t have to be social or anything.”

Derek shot him side glances the entire way up to his bedroom, but Stiles just bounced on his heels until Derek was in the room and he could shut the door. After a second, he went over and locked the window too. Finally, he turned to Derek. His hands were sweating. Shit.

“So, I sort of wanted to talk to you about something, but you have to promise not to hit me.”

“Stiles—”

“No, sorry, I mean, I know you wouldn’t hit me. So maybe just don’t hate me? Or, well—”

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Derek looked concerned. That was good. If Derek could be concerned, then Stiles could too. Reciprocity, motherfucker.

Stiles shuffled over to his chair, but only got a hand on the back before changing his mind and leaning on his windowsill. “Nothing! Nothing immediate, anyway. So, remember how I know some stuff about you, that maybe not a lot of people know?”

That was possibly the worst way to have started the conversation, as Derek already looked like he either wanted to growl at Stiles or just leave. If he left, Stiles would never get him alone to try this again.

He wiped his hands on his jeans as he added, “Hey, I’m not trying to be a dick or anything. I’m just—Did you, like, ever talk to someone about that? Like, therapy, I mean. Do werewolves even have therapists? Is there like a whole branch of werewolf psychologists and counselors and doctors? If you don’t get sick, do you even—No, not what I wanted to talk about.” Stiles shook his head. “So, did you?”

Derek glared down at the floor, then at Stiles. When he broke the eye contact to look over Stiles’ shoulder instead, Stiles had his answer.

“That’s a no, then.”

With a jaw so tight it looked like it would shatter, Derek turned and started to walk away. Stiles yelped and dashed for his bedroom door, putting himself between it and Derek’s approaching body until they were almost as close as they’d been when Derek was hiding out as a fugitive in his room.

“Wait! Wait, come on, just hear me out,” he begged.

“No.”

“Derek, _please_. I’m—I’m trying to help, you asshole.”

Though he was perfectly capable of shoving Stiles to the side or unlocking the window and just jumping off the roof, Derek didn’t move, so Stiles took his chance.

“I only asked because I know you have that whole ‘no-touching’ thing, and while I get that maybe you’re just one of those people who isn’t into tactility, I find it kind of hard to believe considering you’re a werewolf and even _Jackson_ wants to have his hands on at least one of us at all times. Not to mention, whatever issue you have seems _way_ worse when it involves me, and I don’t think you hate me that much, so I figure it must be more about the _human_ thing than the _me_ thing. Which kind of led me to wonder…” Stiles paused and looked up at Derek when he realized he’d been rambling to the floor. “I was wondering if maybe it was a relatively new thing for you, since—” He twitched some fingers to encompass the everything that was Kate and the fire.

He wasn’t expecting Derek to start shouting or suddenly burst into tears, but _some_ kind of facial expression would’ve been nice. As it was, Stiles couldn’t read the tension pouring off Derek. He just knew that it looked painful.

“How is any of this your business?” Derek finally snapped. “I mean, maybe it’s not, but that’s never stopped me before. You think I didn't see that _incredibly_ awkward hug with Jackson after the lake? You know, the one where you were grimacing so hard I almost thought he’d stabbed you? And that’s not the only time. Whenever you go to touch one of us, you look like you have to brace yourself for it. Like it’s agony. And that’s just not how touching is supposed to work.”

“What do you want from me, Stiles?” He was retreating, backing up out of Stiles’ bubble and getting a few feet away before coming to an unsteady stop.

“Dude, I want Isaac to get hugged by someone other than me once in a while, or you know, be able to sit next to you on the couch without the foot and half distance between you two. He’s so fucking miserable! He spends all his time with us just to have contact with someone and it’s screwing him up way more than living in the depot or your old house ever did. When we get Erica and Boyd back, I want them to get hugs too, cus’ I know how badly they wanted them before they were taken. But mostly, I just want you to stop hurting yourself every time you try to get close to your pack.” Stiles pushed his palms against his forehead and let them slide through his hair as he took a breath. “I’m not gonna force you to do anything, Derek. If you want us to just keep our distance, then that’s fine, I’ll leave you alone and I won’t bring it up again. I _can_ keep my mouth shut when I need to. But, I think I know how to help, if you’ll just let me try.”

Stiles’ window squealed as Derek shoved it open and left.

* * *

Help. Stiles wanted to _help._

If anything, Derek was even more on edge than usual by the time he got back to the loft. Isaac was moping, probably about Jackson having to head home early when he’d been staying over for entire afternoons for the last week.

They’d only been acting as pack for about a month, but Isaac and Jackson had been nigh inseparable any time they were in a room together. Stiles had been right about Jackson craving touch like a dying man, and Isaac had been the same from probably before he was bitten. Erica and Boyd had made him reek of happiness with all of their cuddling with him.

Derek could manage no such thing.

Every time he so much as considered putting a hand on Isaac’s shoulder or bumping their foreheads together to greet him or say goodnight, half of him revolted and the other half rejoiced. He _missed_ touch, but every time he got it or forced himself to provide it, his stomach twisted into knots and his skin crawled.

How exactly could Stiles help with _that_?

He tried to prove to himself that it wasn’t the problem Stiles was making it out to be. Hugging Jackson hadn’t been excruciating, it was just…awful.

When Isaac finally seemed to give up on entertaining himself in the living room and headed for the stairs with a mumbled, “Night,” under his breath, Derek crossed the room and put himself in front of the steps.

Having his minimal interactions with his pack questioned only made things worse, so Derek didn’t wait for Isaac to ask what he was doing and just wrapped around him in as strong a hug as he’d given Jackson at the lake.

Isaac was the pack member he was closest to, even before Boyd and Erica were taken. He was legally Derek’s family, and the one that Derek related to the easiest. This should’ve been easy, comforting even. It hadn’t been that bad when he’d hugged Isaac after their fight, and Derek _remembered_ Laura’s hugs being the only thing to keep him upright some days, even if they weren’t altogether pleasant. Surely, it should’ve been the same with Isaac.

Instead, Derek had to suppress shudders of rolling discomfort, simultaneously holding back a snarl when Isaac’s arms came up to hug him back and trying to keep his hands from shaking on Isaac’s shoulders. Gritting his teeth and swallowing hard stifled the growl at the back of his throat, and Derek waited stiffly for Isaac to break the hug first.

It didn’t take long. Isaac huffed a few breaths of Derek’s scent, then backed up like nothing had happened. Re-establishing their usual distance, he stepped around Derek and jogged up the stairs. He clearly knew how much it took out of Derek to do something as simple as a hug and had done his best to make it as painless as possible.

It shouldn’t be Isaac’s job to keep Derek comfortable. Derek was the Alpha, the parental figure, the actual _adult_. Stiles was right, it wasn’t fair to leave Isaac so touch-starved just because Derek didn’t want to deal with his issues.

—

He waited until the next day, when Peter showed up to do…something. Derek couldn’t even remember the excuse he’d given when he appeared at the door. Whatever it was, it involved him lounging on Derek’s couch and occasionally bickering with Isaac the exact same way that he’d bickered with Derek as teen. Even that seemed to brighten Isaac’s mood better than Derek could.

Once they were settled, Derek left, not bothering to give an explanation besides, “Going out.”

Though he knew that the sheriff probably wouldn’t care if he showed up at the front door, now that they’d actually talked, Derek wasn’t in the mood to be questioned. Not when he couldn’t think of a decent excuse for showing up to talk to Stiles without there being some kind of emergency. So, he climbed up onto the roof and knocked on Stiles’ window, taking at least a little satisfaction from watching Stiles slide off the side of the bed in surprise.

The knocking was just a formality, and Derek didn’t wait for Stiles to actually come let him in before he pushed the unlocked window up and climbed inside.

“I thought we were past the _windows,_ ” Stiles groaned as he climbed back to his feet and examined the bent cover of his paperback book.

“What is it?” Derek asked. From Stiles’ awkwardness the day before, he could only assume it would be something Derek wouldn’t like.

Stiles frowned at him and held the book up. “It’s called _The Bar Code Tattoo_? Why?”

Derek frowned back. “No, Stiles. What is it?” He huffed for a second, then just spit it out. “The touching thing.”

“Oh!” Stiles looked around the room. “I—I put the stuff away. Hold on.”

Tossing his book on the bed, Stiles started moving around the room, pulling papers from the space between the top of his books and the shelf above them, from the actual drawer of the desk, which was absolutely stuffed with what looked like more printouts, and then he dragged a box out from under his bed and grabbed a whole stack from inside it.

“Stiles, stop killing trees,” Derek scolded.

Blinking down at his full hands, Stiles shrugged. “Okay, so maybe I spend more on printer paper and ink than most kids my age. The real tragedy here is that I don’t have a filing cabinet or something to keep these all in.”

Almost businesslike, Stiles rearranged his papers until they were all in one pile on his desk, then sat in his computer chair and took a deep breath. “So, first off, is the werewolf counselor-slash-therapist thing even on the table? Or maybe a human one that you can just…lie to? Cus’ I’m not a doctor, okay? Not remotely qualified—”

“No.”

Stiles sucked on his teeth and sank back into his seat. “Fine. But I’m telling you right now that if this makes everything worse, it’s not my fault. You asked me to do it. And maybe I suggested it in the first place, but that’s not the _point_.”

Derek stared Stiles down until he went quiet. “What the _hell_ is ‘it?’”

“Have you ever heard of exposure therapy?”

The words were familiar, bringing to mind shitty television and bad movies. “You mean where they put someone afraid of snakes in the middle of a snake pit?”

“Kind of?” Stiles said, voice high. “No, not really.” He began to rifle through the papers without seeming to read any of them. “It’s not torture. It’s an actual therapy technique. And apparently it works really well on phobias, PTSD, anxiety, all that.” Swinging his head around, he set his jaw. “Look, would you sit down or something? Or at least try harder to pretend you’re not about to run out?”

Sighing, Derek went and sat on the edge of Stiles’ bed. To prove he was staying, he even pulled his jacket off. Holding it up for Stiles’ inspection, he tossed it at the pillow. “Talk.”

Stiles snorted. “Don’t hear that very often.” Then, he was back to the papers. At this point, Derek was pretty sure they were just supposed to make him feel like he knew what he was doing, rather than for him to actually reference. “It’s called exposure therapy because you’re supposed to be _slowly_ exposed to whatever makes you freak. Whatever really bugs you, you start small and sort of build up a resistance to it? So, the example like eight of these med journals gave was—”

“Eight?” Derek asked. “You read eight whole articles? How long have you been planning this?”

“Uh, a couple days?” Stiles answered. “And sure, let’s go with eight. Look, I just didn’t wanna screw it up. Again, _not a doctor_. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and I wasn’t about to just throw random stuff at you. Now, what happened to letting me talk?”

Derek raised a hand to encourage Stiles to continue, silently wondering what the fuck he’d gotten himself into. Suddenly, the massive stack of paper made sense, if Stiles had been reading articles from medical journals.

“Anyway, the popular example is spiders. So, say you were terrified of spiders. With exposure therapy, they’d start you off with, like, a picture of a spider. Then, when it stopped freaking you out, you’d watch a video. Then you’d see one from a distance. You see where I’m going? The goal is that you’d eventually be able to actually hold one without panicking.”

“What does that have to do with me? I’m not scared of spiders.”

“No, but you’re kind of scared of touching people. Human people, even more so.”

Derek flinched at hearing it out loud.

Stiles froze. “Sorry.”

Curling his hands into Stiles’ comforter didn’t help much, but it was better than nothing. “It’s fine. Just, get to the point.”

Nodding, Stiles chewed his lip. “Do you even get how important touch is?”

No, Derek didn’t. The importance of touching people never actually came up, living with a bunch of werewolves. It was so ingrained in everything they did, what was there to talk about? It was like breathing. He knew that it _was_ important. That there was such a thing as being touch-starved, like Isaac seemed to be. But they were mostly abstract ideas.

Stiles didn’t seem to expect a response. “I mean, it’s not like I could look up werewolves’ reactions, so I figure it’s probably just the human stuff but even more, right? Everything with you guys is just _more_. Which would royally _suck_ because for the first few years for humans, it’s literally life or death. Like, babies have to be touched by real people, _regularly_ , or it can mess them up permanently. And even though that’s supposed to fade when we get older, it kind of doesn’t? There’s all this awful stuff that can happen if even adults don’t touch people often enough. We’re talking fatigue, insomnia, depression, anxiety, irritability. It can even cause _nightmares_.”

He counted them off on his fingers, but Derek only saw it through the corner of his eye as he stared at the corner of Stiles’ desk. The minute Stiles started listing off symptoms, Derek knew he was screwed. Fatigue? Constant. Insomnia and nightmares? Every _single_ night. Depression, anxiety, and irritability? Derek couldn’t even distinguish between them most of the time. It’d all been there after the fire, but since Laura died everything had just intensified. She’d been the last person Derek actually _wanted_ to touch.

Not to mention how many of those symptoms matched Isaac’s own issues. Derek was _causing_ some of that.

“And then there’s all the benefits of touch,” Stiles continued, either oblivious to Derek’s realization or demonstrating enough social awareness to just leave him alone about it. “Touching _literally_ makes people happier. Just a quick hug or holding someone’s hand releases oxytocin. Did you know that most of the high people get after sex comes from the post-coital cuddling, not the sex itself? It lowers stress, promotes better sleep, lowers blood pressure, leaves people with more energy, builds trust, and on and on. I read somewhere that couples who’re super close? Yeah, when they hold hands their heartbeats sometimes sync up. Even their _brainwaves_. And it’s all about evolution and the vagus nerve or whatever. Basically, we’re such social animals that the need to not be alone is just built in. And I figured, wolves are _just_ as social, so wouldn’t werewolves be? Whole wolf packs just sort of pile on each other, and I know that the Betas are all stupidly cuddly.”

Stiles was horribly, _painfully_ right, and Derek had to close his eyes to beat back memories of curling up with his siblings in the den to watch movies. Everyone so close and comfortable and _happy_. “Stiles,” he whispered, not opening his eyes. “The _point_ , please.”

There was a few seconds of silence as Stiles’ heart slowed and his scent went from excited to sad. Derek _hated_ it, but at least Stiles wasn’t talking anymore.

“I was thinking that, if you let me, I could help you sort of…desensitize yourself to touch. Maybe make it so you can enjoy it again? So you could be closer to the pack without torturing yourself.”

Slowly, Derek opened his eyes. “Why you? Why not Isaac? I like him better.”

To his surprise, Stiles didn’t look remotely insulted. He just shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, Isaac works. But, I was pretty sure he didn’t know, uh, _why_ you would be doing this. And it’d be kind of hard to explain this to him without explaining that too. Plus, since humans are kind of the hardest thing for you, I thought it’d be easier if you started with a human and sort of got the worst part over with? _And_ , there’s the part where I can’t actually smell your feelings or hear your heartbeat, like Isaac and Jackson can, which means you’d get at least a _little_ privacy in your own head?” Then, his eyes widened. “But we can definitely have Isaac do it, if you want. Like, I’m not saying I _wouldn’t_ help if you wanted it to be Isaac. I’d just tell him what to do.”

In spite of himself, Derek snorted. He shifted back on Stiles’ bed until he could pull one leg up sideways. “I was just asking, Stiles. Calm down. You haven’t actually said what you would be _doing_ to help.”

Stiles squinted at him in confusion. “Uh…touching you?”

* * *

Maybe it wasn’t as obvious to Derek as Stiles had been trying to make it. He just sort of froze, and Stiles could actually _watch_ the realization kick in as Derek’s face twitched into a pained grimace.

“Hey,” Stiles said, trying not to sound like he thought Derek was something fragile, even though he _definitely_ did, “remember the part where I said you don’t have to do it? This is all just hypotheticals, dude. Totally optional.”

But Derek was shrinking into himself more by the second.

Desperate to reverse whatever he’d done, Stiles clutched the _hours_ worth of printed out articles that he’d soaked up like a sponge over the last few days. “Okay, I have no idea what’s going on in your head, but I’m just gonna get the rest of this thing out there so you can say no and leave or something. Uh, so, basically it’d be a sort of four part massage-type scale? Like, step one would be a sort of hand massage? It’s pretty non-intimate, and just less awkward all around? Then, whenever you decided you were up for it, two would be your shoulders, three would be your back, and then four would be the hardest because it would have to be _you_ doing the touching.” He paused, then added, “Unless I have it all backwards. Cus’ then we’d have to do the opposite, which I guess works.”

Derek wasn’t really looking at him, so Stiles busied himself with adjusting his papers into a neat pile right at the corner of his desk, then puttered around with his pencils and pens for a bit.

Eventually, Derek muttered, “I thought scales were supposed to go to five?”

A laugh burst out of Stiles before he could hold it back. “You’re seriously judging me for not having _enough_ uncomfortable things to make you do?”

The tension in the room dissipated as Derek chuckled lowly. “You worked everything out, didn’t you? You didn’t even know if I’d say yes.”

“Dude, it’s summer,” Stiles snorted, “I have literally nothing else to do.”

He rubbed at his neck, then adjusted on his seat until he was sitting cross legged and able to curl up a little more. “I can’t even help find Erica and Boyd. So, I figured I’d just get things ready for when they got back. Only, I have no clue how. The only thing I could think of that they wanted while they were here but didn’t have was the whole tactile thing.”

“So, your welcome home gift to them is _me_?” Derek asked.

“A little bit,” he admitted. “It’s also supposed to be a sort of gift for you, though.”

Derek raised a brow at him. “What’d I do?”

“Uh, you let me into the pack? Permanently? And you haven’t even threatened to beat me up recently, which is gift-worthy all on its own.” Stiles grinned at him. “Positive reinforcement.”

“Don’t think it’s working,” Derek said, straightfaced. “Still wanna rip your throat out with my teeth.”

Stiles held up a finger and hoped he wasn’t going too far. “Ah, but that would require _touching_ me.”

Derek scowled, but it didn’t look like the wounded kind.

“So…” Stiles said, poking at his desk so his chair swiveled.

“What was the first thing on the list?”

This time, Stiles did look down and scan his papers properly to make sure he was getting the order and the description right. The edges of the sheets were getting wrinkled from his clammy hands, but this was a big deal, Stiles was allowed to be a little nervous. “First thing was a hand massage...thing? It’s kind of hard to find a specific treatment plan for touch-aversion, so I had to sort of cobble it together. Hands seem like they’re pretty non-intimate, plus you can pull away if it’s too much or have your arm extended to keep me as far away as possible. It seemed like a good idea? It’s pretty basic, actually. You would just sit there and I’d massage your hand until you calmed down enough to move on to the next step.”

Again, Derek’s face twisted up into a grimace, but it looked far less emotional and far more disgusted. “So just...sitting there? In silence?”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles tossed the stack onto his desk. “No one said we had to sit in silence. Not that I’m capable of it anyway. We could watch a movie or something, or listen to music, or I don’t know, _talk_?”

Derek blinked at him. “Gross.”

“Oh, fuck you, Peter Pan,” Stiles scoffed. “I’ll have you know that I’m a _delight_. Just ask Isaac.”

“Do we have to start now?” Derek asked, snapping back to serious.

Stiles rubbed his still damp hands together and shook his head. “No, not really. Dude, the whole point of this is for it to be something you don’t _dread_. If you don’t wanna do it today, or this week, or whatever, then we won’t. You have to actually choose to do this.”

He’d taken off his jacket before things were explained, and it left Derek looking weirdly small on Stiles’ bed as he blue screened at just the idea of being in charge of choosing something. By the time he scooted to the edge of the bed and stared down at his hands, Stiles was sure he was just procrastinating giving an answer. “What about you? This is…a lot to ask for. You’re not even a little weirded out?”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to not want to answer, but it was too valid of a question for him to feel like he could brush it off. “If I tell you, you’re not allowed to call me creepy.”

Immediately, Derek’s brow rose.

“Yeah, that probably didn’t help my case,” Stiles sighed. “Nevermind. Look, it’s no big deal, I just kind of love touching people?” Just hearing it out loud, Stiles felt like calling _himself_ creepy. “That sounds wrong. I’m good with my hands? Nope, that’s so much worse. Let’s just say that I’m pretty well suited to how tactile werewolves are, since I’ve been like that pretty much my whole life.”

Stretching his fingers out in front of him, Stiles tried to explain, “You know, I used to give Scott massages, like all the time? Whenever I spent the night or we’d been running around outside long enough for him to get sore. When we hit high school though, he stopped asking. I guess he just decided it was too weird to get a massage from his best friend? But Heather says I have magic hands, and in middle school, Scott begged me more than once to go to school and become a masseuse or something so I could make us both rich.

“Long story short, while I’m not exactly looking forward to basically torturing you with this, the actual massage part isn’t really an issue for me. Like, it’s weird, but it wouldn’t _bug_ me. Besides, you’re not asking, Derek, I’m offering.”

 _Finally_ , Derek held his hand out. “Fine.”

But Stiles didn’t move. “You’re sure? We don’t have to start this instant. You don’t even have to—”

Darting forward, Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and pulled, dragging his wheelie chair over to the side of the bed. The entire time, he was wincing.

Stiles yanked his hand back and jumped to his feet, holding it against his stomach. “Stop! What the fuck are you doing?”

Derek raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond.

“Okay, ground rules, you don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t fucking touch me when you don’t want to. Ever,” Stiles scolded. “I’m not going to be a way for you to torture yourself. If you just start _making_ yourself do this, then I’m out. That’s not what this is supposed to be, and it’s already gonna suck enough knowing that I’m actively freaking you out the entire time I’m trying to help. If we’re doing this you have to _swear_ that you’re not gonna let me keep going past what you’re actually comfortable with. Don’t turn me into some kind of monster on accident.” While he spoke, Stiles shook his hand out and backed up another step. “And for that matter, stop touching me the rest of the time too. Do you know how shitty it feels watching you grab me or try to make me feel better by _hurting_ yourself?”

Though Derek looked vaguely chagrined, he didn’t apologize. “Stiles, there’s literally nothing that I’m going to be comfortable with. That’s the whole _point_ , isn’t it? We have to start somewhere.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Stiles groaned. “Fine, fine! Then maybe there _are_ five steps. Step one; I’m gonna sit next to you.”

Once he’d kicked his chair out of the way, Stiles grabbed his laptop and dropped onto the bed as close to Derek as he dared. Just as he thought, Derek’s spine snapped straight with tension. Just to be mean, Stiles grinned wide. “How’re you feeling?”

It’d been a little while since Derek had actually growled at him with any kind of heat, and Stiles had to force down a shiver of nerves.

“Got it, so once you stop doing that, _maybe_ we’ll do the next thing. In the meantime, since you clearly don’t wanna have a conversation, we have this.” Stiles jiggled his laptop. “I get to pick the show.”

It took the entire first episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ for Derek’s body to relax next to Stiles’, just sitting on the side of the bed with him. As the next episode was starting, Derek rolled his shoulders and stuck his hand out again. Stiles squinted at it.

“Are—”

“You’re making it worse,” Derek interrupted. “Just do it.”

So, Stiles tapped pause on his computer and shuffled backward. “At least move over here. I hate sitting with my legs hanging. And you have to hold this now.”

* * *

It was embarrassing, how something so small could tear Derek’s near perfect control to shreds. The minute Stiles took his hand, Derek’s claws grew out. He shifted them back easily enough, but the fact that it’d happened at all was ridiculous. The growling was a lost cause. The eyes came last and were what made Stiles pause.

“Maybe we’re not there yet.”

“ _Stiles_.” Every time they paused or Stiles questioned it, it just made Derek want to leave even more.

Stiles’ eyes widened and he threw one hand out. “Dude, you’re clearly freaking out!”

“I don’t _care_.”

A finger was shoved in his face. “Fine, I’ll ignore all the very clear warning signs that I should be running the other direction. But that means _you_ have to actually pull away when you need me to stop. If you bite me because you don’t know your own limits, I swear to god—”

“Stiles, shut up. I’ll stop you if I need to.”

Derek rolled his eyes when Stiles squinted at him. “Promise?”

“I promise, Tinkerbell,” Derek sniped.

Glacially slow, Stiles took Derek’s hand again. This time Derek managed to keep from dropping fangs or popping claws, but he still growled. Only once he’d managed to cut it out did he shift Stiles’ laptop onto his lap and press play.

 _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ was, hands down, _the_ most stereotypical thing that Stiles could’ve chosen, but at least it was familiar. Laura had loved watching it after the fire. Sometimes Derek thought it made her feel better about living around so many humans, when for so long it’d just been their pack.

Possibly the most disconcerting thing about the whole experience, besides actually letting someone touch him, was how quiet Stiles became. After muttering under his breath for a minute, he went totally silent. The same eerie focus from the last full moon that he’d had while braiding the tassels of his blanket and looking up possible solutions for Isaac’s anchor, he now directed toward Derek’s hand.

He was giving it all he had, apparently. Massaging slow circles with his thumbs and working his way down Derek’s fingers and up his palm, without going past his wrist. It was horrible.

Not all of it, of course. Except for the blanket he’d given Isaac as per the sheriff’s suggestion, Derek hadn’t gotten a chance to properly scent any of his pack. Grabbing Stiles’ neck the night he’d joined in the first place had lasted all of a few days. The occasional hug only left wisps of his scent on them, and it faded quickly without reinforcement. Living with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac in an enclosed space had done the same, but that was long gone. Isaac, Jackson, and Stiles smelled of each other, but none of them smelled of him. Like they had no Alpha.

So, the fact that Stiles was essentially rubbing Derek’s scent into his skin wasn’t that bad. Even the overall warmth of just being close to someone wasn’t _bad_.

It was the actual sensation of skin. The sense memory of touch that was so distorted by time and pain that it didn’t take long for the growling to come back, a rumble in Derek’s throat that he couldn’t even find a real source for. He just wanted it to _stop_.

Stiles didn’t hold on when Derek curled his clawed fingers into his fist and yanked his hand away. In fact, he tucked his own hands under his thighs, far away from Derek. It was only slightly reassuring.

“I take it you need a break or something?” he asked.

Rather than answer, Derek hit the spacebar and pushed the computer onto the mattress so he could stand up. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to tell them about this.”

“Them who? Jackson and Isaac? If you don’t tell them anything, how would they know?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “How do you think, Stiles? My scent is all over your hands.” He gestured at where Stiles’ hands were tucked. “And your blanket.”

But Stiles just scrunched his face up. “Uh, I mean, I get that maybe there’d be some scent stuff, but why would it be so noticeable? Especially since I’m not supposed to see either of them until tomorrow.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, what the hell would I be joking about?”

Just before Derek went to argue, he stopped. His scent was all over Stiles. But Stiles’ scent wasn’t all over him. It was there, definitely, but not all that obvious despite their contact. “Do…” He faded out. How was he supposed to ask that?

It was Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes. “Do what?”

“Don’t laugh,” Derek started, glaring when Stiles immediately brightened. “Do humans not have scent glands on their hands?”

Stiles didn’t laugh, but his eyes did get alarmingly wide. “Do _werewolves_ have scent glands on their hands?”

So, that was a no, then. It wasn’t something wolves talked about, so Derek had just assumed humans didn’t either. He’d always done his best not to interact with them anyway, except for Prue, who acted like such a wolf sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Still, Peter could’ve mentioned it at some point while Derek was _dating_ a human.

“Oh my god, you do,” Stiles whispered. “That is _awesome_! Can I see? No, wait, I’ll ask Isaac or something.”

He was clearly excited, so Derek grit his teeth and held his hand out again. “Go ahead.”

If Stiles was going to willingly deal with Derek growling in his face for however long this stupid therapy took, Derek could at least satisfy his ridiculous curiosity.

It was somehow _easier_ when Stiles just grabbed at his hand—his hesitation apparently forgotten in the midst of curiosity—to stare at his palm in the exact wrong spot. Still horribly uncomfortable, but without the tension of expecting and waiting for the touch to come, it wasn’t as bad.

“They’re between my fingers, Stiles,” Derek corrected. “And my toes, if you don’t have those either. No, you can’t see those.” He splayed his fingers though.

Stiles looked there instead, then frowned at him. “I don’t see anything. Are you punking me or something?”

Derek sighed. “Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there. How do you think we scent each other? How do _humans_ scent each other?”

That, Stiles laughed at. “Dude, are you serious? We _don’t_. Why do you think Isaac’s so damn uncomfortable with it in public?”

“You don’t…at all?”

“No. Human noses kinda suck compared to yours.”

“Yeah, but you don’t— _at all_?”

Shaking his head, Stiles continued to examine Derek’s hand. “Nope. Nada. None. Humans don’t—wait is that why Boyd and Erica kept rubbing my arms? Because their hands are like extra smelly?”

“Yes? Stiles—”

“Oh my god, that makes so much sense.”

“Stiles—”

“Like, I knew that they were doing something smell related, but with all the hugs, the handsy-ness just seemed like overkill—”

“ _Stiles._ ”

Abruptly, Stiles let go of Derek. “Yeah?”

“I still don’t know what to tell them.”

Stiles deflated back into his sitting position. “Do you even want them to know?”

Derek just looked at him.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, okay, good point. Well, it’s not like scent is permanent. I can just wash my hands and my blankets. That’ll be good enough, right?”

“I thought this needed to happen _often_?” Stiles had already spent days doing research for him, almost two hours trying to help fix Derek’s issues, and had promised to keep doing it for the foreseeable future. Why would he also want to worry about keeping the whole thing a secret from the three werewolves he was surrounded by?

Stiles just shrugged. “Yeah, so I’ll wash my stuff _often_ too. It’s no big deal. Here,” he stood up and started pulling on his blanket. “You go wash your hands or something, I assume you know where the bathroom is. I’ll just throw this in right now.” When Derek didn’t move right away, Stiles outright _shooed_ him.

So, Derek shooed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So......what do you think?  
> I feel the need to say this, because I know a lot of people have asked if this series is going to be Stereky, and I don't want anyone thinking that I'm changing my mind about waiting for Anything like that to happen until after Stiles is at least 18.  
>  _  
>  **This is not meant to be romantic.**  
> _  
>  Obviously, I can't stop people from having their own opinions and hc's, but I am making it Crystal Clear that I, the author, did _not_ write this as romantic. I am _personally_ incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of writing any kind of 'therapy,' be it by a professional or in this case a friend doing their best in a situation where professional therapy is unavailable, as a lead-in to romance. People who are the receiver of that 'therapy' should feel safe and comfortable, and not need to worry about something like that, and that's the way I've chosen to write it. As an aside, I wanna give a lot of extra thanks to my two betas, [Madeline](wizardbuckley.tumblr.com/) and [M](https://stilesissokka.tumblr.com/) for letting me rant at them so much about trying to get this chapter just right.  
> Anyway! On a lighter note, what did you think of the little scent gland addition I put in?  
> I've always been a little disappointed that the wolves in TW are sort of just....strong, hairy people? They're so Human, and I know that a big part of the show was that dichotomy between Human and Monster or Human and Non-Human (The very fact that those two comparisons are conflated is a whole other issue for me), but still. I wanted werewolves to be....not human? To be supernatural? To maybe have _something_ in common with the wolves with whom they share a name?  
> So, of course, my little brain immediately went "Scent! Scent glands! YES."  
> The amount of research I did on humans and whether or not THEY have scent glands (We do...but it's not the same as wolves/other mammals) is ridiculous. Also...I did make some personal preference adjustments to the Locations of these scent glands, so don't go worrying about it being Too realistic to wolves.
> 
> That's all for this week folks, hope you weren't disappointed! I'll see you next Thursday.


	6. Jackson's Second Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Jackson's second full moon, and what comes after. This has a little bit of everything, I think. Some Jackson stuff, Derek feels, and Stiles feels. All the feels. :)

“But why not?” Jackson shouted.

Derek winced at the volume of his voice, but held his ground. “You know why not.”

“He’s my best friend, I’m not going to ignore him forever just because you say I’m not ‘ready.’”

Sighing, Derek pulled the bowl of dough off the counter and peeled back the cling wrap without looking up. “I never told you to ignore Danny. Just don’t do anything high energy with him. No sports with humans until Stiles confirms you can control yourself.”

Jackson slammed a fist down onto the counter, and Derek was instantly grateful he’d gone for a granite countertop instead of something thin enough to break. “Dude, we’re in lacrosse together, and track, and he helps me train for the swim team. Literally all we do is play sports.”

“You were with him on your birthday,” Derek pointed out.

“Yeah, and he asked me what was wrong like ten times because I went to the _movies_ with him. I can control myself! Just let me practice with him before he decides that I fucking hate him!”

Growling shortly, Derek finally met Jackson’s eye. “No. You don’t even have an anchor yet, Jackson. The fact that you still drop fang every time you get annoyed doesn’t help your case either. You have to have _control_ or you will _hurt_ him.”

Jackson balked at the reminder, then his face twisted and he shoved the nearest stool backward hard enough for it to smash to pieces against the wall. “This is fucking _bullshit!_ ”

He stormed away, stomping up the stairs toward Isaac’s bedroom and leaving Isaac to watch him from the couch.

“Why is he so pissed off? It’s not like—”

“Leave him be,” Derek interrupted. “He’s still anchorless. Speaking of.”

Isaac bared his dull teeth. “I’m good. Everything’s still too loud, but other than that I don’t feel so…”

“Raw?”

Isaac nodded. “Yeah. Hey, where’s Miezko?”

Derek shrugged and went back to his dough, pressing out some of the air before he reshaped it. “He texted and said he’d be late. He’ll be here, don’t worry.”

* * *

“Come on, one more play?”

Stiles grimaced at the slowly pinkening sky. “Uhh…”

He was late, he was sure of it. And he’d be even later, even if he left right now. He needed to shower and change and grab the book he’d picked up for Isaac, and Stiles had always been bad at figuring out how long things would take.

“ _Dude_ , please?” Scott asked again, adjusting his grip on his crosse. “Deaton only gave me the day off because it’s a full moon, and this is the first time in ages you haven’t been exhausted by the time I got here.”

Shaking his head, Stiles dropped out of his guarding stance and stared at the sky again. What time was it even? Seven? He was supposed to be at Derek’s no later than six forty-five, since he’d backed out of going to the Preserve for their run. “Yeah, dude, it’s a full moon. Which means I need to leave before moonrise.”

Scott tilted his head and propped his crosse on the ground so he could wave an arm out. “Stiles, you know I can control myself. I’m fine, see? Have been for months.”

“Yes, Scott, I’m well aware that you’re still riding the high that is the currently Absent Allison, but you’re not the only werewolf in town.” Jackson was still a wild card, and Derek had said having as much pack around as possible would help keep him slightly less ragey until they could find his anchor.

Abruptly, Scott sobered. “Oh, you’re right. Hey, do you want me to like, check in on you tonight or something?”

Stiles shrugged. “I mean, I doubt that’ll help, since Jackson’s still not a huge fan of you. But, I mean…I guess it’d be fine? If you’re that worried about him?”

“Does your dad work tonight?”

“Yeah, he said there was no point staying home. I think it makes him antsy.”

Nodding slowly, Scott looked at the ground for a second, then beamed at Stiles. “One more play? I’ll protect you, I promise.”

Groaning, Stiles pulled one hand out of his glove. “Fine, _one more_ , just let me send a text real quick.”

Jogging over to the bench where he’d left his bags, Stiles pulled out his phone.

_Hey, gonna be a little late. Maybe another half hour?_

**Peter Pan: Got it.**

One more play turned into three more plays before Stiles could finally beg out and convince Scott to let him leave. Even then, Scott insisted on following him back to his house and waiting outside until he’d gotten in the door. It was fully dark by the time Stiles pulled up to the loft, and he didn’t bother to lock his car door before bolting in and up the stairs. “I’m here!”

Jackson’s furious roar was audible on the ground floor. Once Stiles was at the door to the empty loft they were using, it was deafening. He shoved the door open and jumped inside to close it again, even though they didn’t exactly have neighbors to worry about.

“Where have you _been?_ ” Derek shouted, barely audible over Jackson. He was twining even more chains around Jackson’s already covered front, jerking away from Jackson’s snapping teeth whenever they came too close and chuffing back at him.

Isaac had his hands over his ears, but he ran up to Stiles. “You’re like two hours late!”

“No, I’m only—” Stiles froze once he’d pulled his phone out. It was almost nine. Shit. “Two hours late. I didn’t realize!”

Isaac’s huff wasn’t audible, but Stiles could feel it when he was pulled in for a hug. As he pulled away, Stiles lifted a hand to point at Isaac’s eyes. “You’re not wolfy! Nice job.”

“For now,” Isaac growled, before twisting at the waist to shout, “Jackson, shut the fuck up!”

“Not _helping_ ,” Derek snarled back.

The ring of Jackson’s shouts and roars was slowly deafening Stiles, and he put his own hand up to one ear. “What is _wrong_ with him?”

Shaking his head, Isaac squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “No idea!”

“Derek?” Stiles checked.

But Derek shook his head too and snarled in Jackson’s direction, even though it did absolutely nothing. “I have no clue why he’s so wound up. This isn’t normal! He was even worse before you got here.”

Stiles sighed. “Is anything about Jackson normal?”

They were at a standstill, stuck in a room with Jackson’s fury because leaving would only exacerbate the problem. But the month before they hadn’t been able to sleep until dawn, and Stiles had no interest in dealing with that again.

It was a slight improvement that Isaac was in control, and Stiles gave as much comfort as he could to help keep him that way, following him over to his bunch of blankets and pillows and sitting behind him with Isaac between his knees. Handing over Isaac’s book and propping his elbows up on his kneecaps, Stiles covered Isaac’s ears with his hands and sighed into the back of his head while he pondered.

Before he could even get fully comfortable, the sound ratcheted up another few decibels. Stiles groaned and rolled his neck to glare at Jackson, only to see him yanking at the chains in their direction, looking almost panicked.

“Derek?” Stiles called. “Are you…getting anything off him? Like—” Stiles lifted his hands to gesture vaguely around his head, only to have them yanked back down to Isaac’s ears by Isaac himself.

Derek was still standing next to Jackson, checking the chains and clearly failing to get his attention. “Anger.”

Well duh. Stiles rolled his eyes and tried to gesture for Derek to continue without removing his hands.

“Fear. Tons of it. I don’t get it.”

“Is it fear, or anxiety?”

“Definitely fear. He’s terrified.”

Curious, Stiles tapped at Isaac’s temples until he put his own hands up, then clambered to his feet. He took a step toward Jackson, squinting at him.

“Stiles, knock it off,” Derek warned.

Flapping a hand in Derek’s direction, Stiles took another step.

Jackson got louder and more violent as he tried to break free, the closer Stiles got, but his face didn’t look very murdery.

“Uh, Derek?” Stiles finally said. “Let him go.”

Behind him, Isaac stood up as well. “Do you have a death wish, Mieszko?”

“No, just, I think I get it. Let him go.”

Derek didn’t move an inch. “Stiles, this isn’t like Erica and Boyd. He’ll rip you apart and he won’t be able to help it. We just need to wait it out.”

Huffing, Stiles took another step forward and Jackson _rioted_. “I know this sounds nuts, but I’m serious, I figured it out. Just, trust me.”

Finally, Derek began to undo Jackson’s chains, loosening them one at a time and snarling at him when he got nippy. “Back up.”

Stiles backed up a couple steps and nodded when Jackson’s growls became interspersed with whines. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t hold him back. Isaac, c’mere.” Isaac was already standing behind his shoulder, and Stiles bumped into him with his next step. “Brace for impact.”

The absolute _millisecond_ that he was capable, Jackson snapped through the last chain around his chest and then Stiles was practically airborne. Air whooshed out of him as he hit the thin pile of blankets and a heavy weight settled half on top of him and half on top of Isaac’s equally flattened form.

It didn’t take long before Jackson raised his head and blinked slowly first at Isaac, then Stiles. Whining in annoyance, he shoved his now human face back down between both their shoulders. “I hate you.”

Stiles snorted, then broke down into laughter. “No, you don’t,” he cackled, before sing-songing, “You _love_ us. You wanna _cuddle_ us.”

Jackson growled and began to lift up again, already shifting up.

“No!” Stiles warned, grabbing at him. “Jackson, you’re okay, you’re fine, get back here.” He mimed zipping his lips. “I’ll shut up. I swear.”

It took a second, but Jackson melted back to human before cuddling closer between them.

When Stiles lifted his head up at an odd angle, he could see Derek still standing next to the beam, brows furrowed and stance stiff as a board. Nudging Jackson with one pinned leg, he said, “You wanna tell him, or should I?”

This time, when Jackson rose he eyes didn’t so much as flicker blue. He shuffled around until he was sitting against the wall, clinging to Isaac’s wrist and Stiles’ t-shirt. “Uh…I don’t actually…”

“Oh come on,” Stiles laughed. “Dude, your anchor. You only start freaking out when the moon comes up or when we yell at you for being too wolfy.”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s because the _moon_ came up and he got pissed off. Did you hit your head, or have you always been this dense?”

“No, look harder. Jackson only loses control when he’s trying to _keep_ control. When was the last time he _accidentally_ overdid the strength?”

Derek had taken a step closer, still frowning. “He bruised you to hell and back his first few weeks, Stiles.”

Stiles groaned. Why couldn’t they just _see_ it?

“Uh...that was kind of intentional,” Jackson admitted.

“So, what?” Isaac asked. “His anchor is _not_ having an anchor?”

“No,” Jackson said quietly. “It’s freedom.” He looked around at them. “I don’t actually have any issues wolfing out when I don’t want to. Except when I’m _trying_ not to wolf out. It’s like, I have total control until I’m _trying_ to have control, and then it’s just gone. I just thought—I don’t even know. It’s not like that for you?”

Isaac shook his head. “Hell no, I wolfed out _constantly_ when I wasn’t even thinking about it. I got annoyed and then _boom_ , claws. But so do you!”

Huffing, Jackson finally let go of him. “I only get the claws because I _want_ the claws. I _want_ to shift when I’m pissed. It feels—”

“Natural,” Derek interrupted. “I thought you were losing control, but every time I just left you to freak out, it never happened. Because you weren’t freaking out, were you? You’re sure? Every eye flash, every shift?”

Jackson nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I guess when I’m on the field it’s harder to hold back my speed and strength because I want to go fast? But that’s it.”

It was so obvious, now that Stiles thought about it. He’d had argument after argument with Jackson and he’d never shifted up even a little, _until_ he was trying to intimidate Stiles. When people left him alone, Jackson controlled himself just fine. But whenever they pointed out how dangerous Jackson was without an anchor, he ended up freaking. “That’s why you keep going nuts on the full moon.”

“What?” Isaac asked. “How does any of that—”

“ _Because_ ,” Stiles jutted in, “we _tell_ him he’s gonna go nuts. So, he does. We’ve literally been psyching him out. When we let him go and he saw that you and I weren’t afraid of him, he stopped being afraid of himself. Then, I make fun of him and he tries to reign it in, and immediately it comes back out.” Stiles reached out for Jackson and yanked him until he tumbled forward into Stiles’ lap so he could be hugged. “You idiot. Your anchor is self-confidence. You just need to trust yourself, Jackass.”

A little jolt of pain in Stiles’ chest made him fold over Jackson and mutter quietly, “You’re not gonna hurt us.”

After what’d happened, why didn’t they pick up on it sooner? Jackson was terrified of hurting them, and it was shredding his control every time he got scared. If they’d just _trusted_ him, even once, they could’ve figured it all out without nearly breaking Stiles’ eardrums.

“Does that mean we don’t have to stay here anymore?”

Derek looked around for a second, then sighed at Isaac. “If you’re both sure you can control yourselves, then yes. We can go back.”

Hissing in triumph, Isaac jumped to his feet and pulled at the blankets that were still under Stiles’ ass. “Move it, I wanna sleep in my actual apartment, and if anybody moves me this time I’ll bite them.”

Stiles scrambled around, letting go of Jackson and shifting before Isaac could just yank the blankets out from under him. “Okay, okay!”

But when they all switched back over to the loft, Isaac only went to his room long enough to grab _more_ blankets and pillows that he tossed onto the couch, completely covering Jackson’s sprawled form. “It’s a slumber party now, assholes,” he crowed. “Who’s braiding my hair?”

—

It wasn’t until midafternoon the next day, sitting upside down on the couch while Jackson and Isaac commiserated about their hatred for pickles, of all things, that Stiles realized he’d forgotten Scott. Swinging his legs over the back of the couch, he whirled to sit up so fast that his vision went black around the edges from the head rush.

“Woah,” Isaac startled. His voice bubbled like it was coming through water for a second as Stiles’ blood tried to drain from his brain. “What happened? You look like a tomato.”

Stiles shook his head against the slight headache and grabbed his phone off the coffee table. “Scott,” he managed. Another head shake and he was back. “Uh, Scott wanted to come check on us last night.” He grimaced at Isaac’s snort. “What? He said he was worried about Jackson.”

“ _Right,_ ” Jackson drawled. “McCall is totally worried about my wellbeing.”

“That’s what he told me,” Stiles agreed, ignoring Jackson’s sarcasm. “He wanted to come over and see how we were doing, but he never showed.”

“Shocker.”

Isaac snorted again.

Making a face at them both, Stiles slid off the couch and called Scott’s contact as he wandered over to the kitchen, not that it would make his conversation any more private.

“ _Hey, I’m at work, what’s up?”_ Scott answered.

Surprise, surprise. Scott was always at work lately. Even beyond the help Deaton was apparently giving him to ‘get ready’ for Allison’s supposed return, Scott’d also decided he wanted to buy himself a vehicle, since he would be turning seventeen in August. The motorcycle he wanted wasn’t cheap. More hours, more money.

Stiles scratched at the back of his neck as he said, “Nothing serious, man. Uh, you just said something about coming over last night?”

“ _Oh, dude, I did. I totally forgot! Are you okay?”_

“Yeah, totally. We’re all good here. Jackson even figured out his anchor.”

“ _Finally. You can actually relax next month. Oh, hey, I can’t hang out tonight. I gotta go talk to Derek.”_

Stiles could practically feel the wolves in the room perk up. “What about?”

Scott seemed to hesitate. _“Uh, just a possible lead on Erica and Boyd? It’s no big deal, don’t—”_

“Seriously?” Stiles jolted forward a little toward the living room, where Jackson and Isaac were on full alert on the couch. “What lead?”

_“I thought you said you weren’t getting involved?”_

Snorting, Stiles shoved his free hand under his arm. “Dude, I said they wouldn’t let me help look. Now, what’s the lead, before I die of suspense?”

_“Deaton’s got this friend in San Fran? They said that they might’ve found two teens matching Erica and Boyd’s descriptions. Deaton’s going to go down and check it out over the weekend.”_

That didn’t make even a little sense. Why would the Alpha pack take Erica and Boyd all the way to San Francisco? And if they’d gotten away, why wouldn’t they have called for help?

“But I thought the—”

The sudden hand on the back of Stiles’ shoulder made Stiles jump, and he nearly dropped his phone. Derek stood behind him, shaking his head sharply.

Holding his hand over the phone’s mic, Stiles mouthed, “What?”

“Don’t,” Derek mouthed back.

Stiles frowned and looked down at his phone. Slowly, he lifted it back to his ear. Scott was talking again.

_“Like I said though, it’s not a sure thing. So, don’t worry about it alright? Here, I’ll just text the info to Derek, and we can still hang out. Videogames at my place after work?”_

With Derek still staring at him like he was waiting for a punch, Stiles nodded. “Uh, yeah, sounds good. Hey, I gotta go.”

_“Me too, Deaton’s calling for me. See you later.”_

The moment the call was over, Derek relaxed.

“So, what the hell was that?” Stiles asked. “He was talking about Erica and Boyd, why’d you stop me?”

Derek just closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead.

Isaac clambered off the couch to head over to them. “Don’t tell Scott about the Alpha pack.”

Stiles squeezed his phone in his palm. “What do you mean, ‘don’t tell’ him? He doesn’t _know?_ How are he and Deaton supposed to help if they don’t even know that Erica and Boyd didn’t run away?”

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly. “Don’t tell him.”

He had his arms folded, holding his own biceps with white-knuckled fingers. His eyes were panicked and desperate. It was as close to a nonverbal “please” as someone could get.

“Derek…he could _help_ ,” Stiles tried. “I know you guys don’t get along, but—” He stopped, then sighed.

They’d had this same conversation so many times, and every time Stiles had chosen telling Scott. Even if he hadn’t done the reveal himself, he’d intended to. It hadn’t actually helped, in the grand scheme of things.

He didn’t want to lie to Scott, but at the same time, how was he supposed to go against what his entire pack wanted?

Pressing the heel of his hand into his temple, he pointed at Derek with the hand holding his phone. “If we can’t find them, Derek, we _gotta_ tell him.”

“Just give me until the end of the summer,” Derek bargained. “If I haven’t gotten them back by the time you guys go back to school, I’ll do it myself.”

“Alright. The end of the summer.”

* * *

The epiphany of Jackson’s anchor didn’t mean that he was in full control. Of course, the one thing that Jackson had trouble holding back in was the one thing he wanted to do more than anything else. Lacrosse.

When Stiles finally announced that he thought Jackson was ready to be ‘reintroduced to sports society,’ Derek found himself with a surprisingly heartfelt invitation to go witness his first practice with Danny.

They played two on two, Isaac and Jackson versus Stiles and Danny, as serious when prepping to start as though it were the championships all over again.

Derek sat on the bleachers, on the opposite end from Lydia, who only looked at him so she could glare and stick her nose in the other direction.

Just before they could start, Peter appeared on the forest’s edge, out of sight of the humans, but still catching Isaac, Jackson, and Derek’s attention. 

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked, before either of the Betas could alert Stiles to his presence. “How’d you even know we would be here?”

Peter leaned against a tree and shrugged. “I was just passing by, Derek. It’s been a while since I got to watch a game. I only caught a little of the last one. Besides, when have I ever missed a Hale pack member’s performance?”

Chasing him away would just throw everything off, so Derek merely growled in his direction. “Stay out of view.”

Just to be a shit, Peter stepped back behind the tree he was leaning on and peeked his head out. “Of course.”

On the field, Stiles and Danny were none the wiser, and Lydia was doodling something in a notepad. The blissful ignorance of humans.

Basketball was Derek’s game of choice. He knew every rule, every play. Even in New York, he’d followed the NBA and when he got the chance to go to a gym of some kind, he’d played a few pick up games with strangers. Basketball wasn’t a high-contact sport, so he was able to keep a decent distance from others. But lacrosse was a wholly different game. It would’ve made a lot more sense if Boyd were sitting next to him again, explaining the point and the process in perfect detail, though he’d never played a game in his life.

Rather than relying on his minimal knowledge of the game, Derek watched the responses of those around him to determine how it was going while he focused on how well Jackson and Isaac were keeping control.

Jackson was doing fine; his newfound self-confidence had given him a new lease on life, and he bounced around the green like a cub, beaming at everyone through the grill of his helmet. There were a couple collisions with Stiles and Danny that looked like too much to Derek, but no one called Jackson out. Stiles even muttered a few backhanded compliments as though that amount of force was normal.

Isaac didn’t struggle a lot, but it was more than Derek had thought he would. He hadn’t been practicing with Jackson and Stiles, but he’d still had months more practice controlling himself. Yet when he hit the grass a little too hard, Derek could smell the annoyance rising up in him and see the almost robotic way he held himself as he climbed back to his feet. The danger level rose as Isaac picked speed back up, heading straight for Danny.

“ _It may help to understand human affairs—”_ Stiles muttered from across the field, panting the words even as he raced by Jackson’s side with the ball in his crosse, heading for the goal while Danny tried to guard him.

Jackson started up where Stiles had left off. “ _—to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history—”_

He cut off as Danny rammed into him, and in spite of himself, Derek continued, “—are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad—”

 _“—but by people being fundamentally people,”_ Isaac finished, voice fond and calm. “ _You dumbasses.”_

He’d slowed down to a much more human looking speed, and had redirected himself toward the goal to intercept Stiles. Isaac launched himself at the net at the same time that Stiles made the shot, but the small _swish_ of the ball hitting the back of the net and sliding down it was unmistakable.

Stiles crowed for all of three seconds before Isaac and Jackson had both tackled him to the ground. Immediately, the crowing switched to exaggerated, fake pain sounds as they pretended to pummel him.

“Reset!” Lydia cried. “Game’s not over yet!”

They went for a full hour, starting each play with no discernable strategy and no specific roles assigned. Derek understood bits and pieces of it, and clapped each time a goal was made, whichever the side. By the end of the third quarter, Lydia actually spoke to him, calling over, “You’re supposed to pick a side, you know!” 

“I’m on everybody’s side!” he called back.

Laughter broke out at the side of the field, where the players were taking a quick drink break.

“Did someone record that for me?” Stiles asked loudly. “Quick, Derek, say it again!”

Giving in to the fifteen-year-old inside himself, Derek flipped Stiles off and watched him swoon backwards into Isaac’s arms.

The wolves won, to no one’s surprise. But the winner was far less important than the blissful laugh Jackson let out when Lydia went running down the stairs and jumped into his arms for a hug.

Derek kept his distance. He couldn’t quite get what Stiles had said out of his head, about how uncomfortable it was for him to have Derek touch him _knowing_ how much it hurt him. Isaac had never said anything, but his face had definitely been saying _something_ every time he pulled out of a hug or shrugged off Derek’s touch with a slightly pained grimace. So had Jackson after that hug at the lake, for that matter. They didn’t want him to force himself to be tactile, so why was he doing it anyway?

“Alright, you’ve proven yourself,” he admitted, when Jackson came up to him, clearly looking for praise of some kind. “If you can keep control like that all the time, even in practices, then I won’t fight you about rejoining lacrosse.”

Jackson threw both fists in the air and cheered, running back down the steps and jumping on Isaac’s back. He pointed over Isaac’s shoulder at Stiles. “I’m gonna work you to the bone next spring, Stilinski, so beef up or get fucked!”

Stiles gaped. “I get to _pick?_ ”

There was a full chorus of groans from everyone, including Lydia.

—

It took a week for Derek to convince himself to go back to Stiles’ room, picking a day that Isaac went to Jackson’s instead of the other way around. It wasn’t hard to just tell him that he was “Going out,” but it was even easier not to have to say anything at all.

Somehow it was even worse, arriving at Stiles’ window this time. This time he _knew_ what was coming, and it wasn’t a pleasant motivator.

“At least you texted first,” Stiles muttered to himself. He was at the desk this time, a video already up on his laptop.

“You’re welcome,” Derek sniped. The whole concept of what he was doing was downright irritating, and seeing how little Stiles was bothered just made him angrier. “You could’ve just said not to come.”

Stiles pouted at him. “Aww, are you in a bad mood? Do you need to come back later?” But he was still unplugging his laptop and carrying it over to the bed. “So, we still watching Buffy? Or do you actually have a preference? I can find pretty much whatever.”

Rather than answer, Derek sat on the bed with his back against the headboard and glared at the door to the bedroom.

“Get your shoes off my bed!” Stiles scolded, pointing at Derek’s feet. “What, were you raised by wolves?”

Derek snorted at Stiles’ indignation, but ignored the joke. “Don’t you have to wash these after this anyway?”

Sputtering, Stiles pointed harder. “It’s the principle of the thing. House rules!”

Derek didn’t move. “That’s for _my_ house.”

“Well, now it’s for both of our houses.”

“Do you want to have to wash your carpets?”

Stiles froze. “Why would I have to do that?”

With a sigh, Derek rolled his eyes and his head so that he was looking at Stiles. “Why exactly do you think I have that rule in the first place?”

Stiles shrugged and answered, “Because wearing shoes in the house is a very American concept and most of the rest of the world doesn’t follow the same culture?”

“Yeah, no,” Derek corrected. “Think harder.”

For a second, Stiles was quiet, brows furrowed in concentration as he looked from Derek’s feet to Derek’s face. Derek was just about to give him a hint when his eyes widened. “ _Oh._ Bare _feet_. Got it.”

Derek lifted a hand in a “There you go” gesture.

He couldn’t scent the rest of his pack comfortably, but at the very least, Derek could let them scent his den. For Isaac and Jackson, every step they took around the loft with bare feet pressed their scent that much more into the floor and couch and carpet of the building. Stiles’ took a little more effort, since he didn’t actually have scent glands between his toes, apparently, but he spent more than enough time there to make up for it.

If Derek went barefoot, or even socked, in Stiles’ room it would be incredibly obvious that he’d been there for longer than it would take to have a normal chat.

“Alright, keep your dirty shoes on. Where are we starting?” Stiles asked. “Do you need to chill for a while, or—”

Derek just held his right hand out, glaring when Stiles looked unsure. “If the whole point of this is that I only do things when I want to, then maybe you should stop questioning me when I say I want to do it.”

Even though he took Derek’s hand and shifted to the side enough to get a good angle, Stiles still pointed out, “You don’t exactly have the best track record with being _honest_ about your feelings, dude. Excuse _me_ for wanting to double check.”

“Thinking about punching you in the face again,” Derek said blandly. “Is that honest enough?”

Eventually, the show got turned back on, right where they’d left off, and Stiles began to zone out again, working around the claws that Derek couldn’t pull back.

It was still horrible. Just as, if not more, than last time.

As Derek’s temper soured further, he couldn’t help comparing Stiles’ touch to Boyd’s, after the station. That simple touch that he’d been able to adjust to so quickly and handle for a few _hours_ until the others woke up. That hadn’t been anywhere near this bad.

And yes, humans always made his aversion worse, the different scent and different body language setting him off far faster than other wolves. He couldn’t help it. But if Stiles was pack, why was this still so damn hard?

He didn’t even realize he was growling until it stopped as he yanked his hand away.

“Thank god,” Stiles sighed, retreating his own hands back to his lap.

“What?” Derek snapped.

Stiles frowned at him. “What do you mean ‘what?’ Thank god, you finally made me stop. You’ve been glaring at my hand and growling at me for like ten minutes.” He gestured to the time on his laptop, where the playback of the episode had finished and the fullscreen had timed out, waiting for someone to click into the next one.

“If you were that worried about it, why didn’t you stop yourself?”

“Because you told me not to!” Stiles burst. “I _wanted_ to stop when you started shifting, but you told me to ignore it! If you want me to quit when you growl or when your eyes turn red or something, I will, but you have to _tell_ me. We talked about this! What is up with you today?”

Suddenly, even the proximity to Stiles was too much, and Derek stood up. “This is pointless. It’s not helping and it’s not going to.”

The laptop bounced a little on the covers as Stiles clambered off the bed as well. “What? This is literally the second time, of course it hasn’t helped. This isn’t an instant cure, Derek, it takes time.”

“How much time? How long are we supposed to do this until you realize it won’t work?”

He wanted a fight. Fighting with Stiles was normal, they’d been doing it since they met. But Stiles just cringed and rubbed his hands down his thighs before shoving them in his pockets.

“Dude, we do this until you don’t want to anymore. Stuff like this can take _years_ to get all the way through, and there’s not really a set number of times you have to do it to get it to work. I mean, I’d say we should probably try more than _once_ , but if you’re sick of it, then we can just stop.” He scowled then, narrowing his eyes. “Why’d you even agree to it if you were gonna get pissed about having to do it long term?”

Derek growled on purpose for once. “Because I’m sick of being so bad at something as simple as _touching_ my pack! You have no idea how _ridiculous_ this is from my perspective. It’s like not being able to tie your shoes or knowing left from right. It’s idiotic!”

Stiles scoffed almost gently and scrubbed at the back of his neck, spreading Derek’s scent even further. “You’re not _bad_ at touching people, Derek. You’re just a little…under-rehearsed. You spent six years with no one for company but your sister, who was also your Alpha, while _literally_ waiting for a shot in the back. I’m pretty sure anybody else in your situation would have just as many issues. And, not to go all school counselor on you, but those issues aren’t gonna just go away. People go to counseling for their entire lives to deal with the kind of shit you’re just sort of…living with.”

“So, what? I’m supposed to keep coming to you for the rest of my life and torture myself?”

“Okay,” Stiles admitted, “so maybe I didn’t think through all the details when I suggested it. But I’m a man of my word, so fuck it, if you _wanna_ keep doing this forever, I’m game. I mean, it’d be kind of hard for me to go to college if I need to be near enough for you to visit, and I have no idea how we’d keep it a secret from the rest of the pack that long, but I never get sick of Buffy, and it’s honestly kinda nice to just have a designated time to chill, even with fangs in my face.”

He was so matter of fact about it, Derek had to hold back incredulous laughter. “Stiles, I’m _not_ doing this forever.”

Stiles sighed in exaggerated relief. “Oh thank god, cus’ I have no idea how long werewolves live and I wasn’t looking forward to spending my hard-earned mid-life-crisis dealing with your grumpy old ass.”

“I’m only five years older than you, you idiot,” Derek pointed out. “When you’re middle aged, I will be too.” Nevermind that he wouldn’t _look_ middle-aged, but that was besides the point.

But Stiles just flapped a hand to dismiss him and leaned back against his dresser to cross his arms. “You still haven’t actually told me what we’re doing _now_. Am I going back to watching art restoration, or are we trying this again? I’ve said it like a hundred times, but I’m gonna say it again. You can just say no if you’re sick of this. It’s not like I’ll hold a grudge. Or much of one, anyway.”

For a second, Derek tried to rearrange the whirlwind of frustration in himself into something he could actually understand. He obviously didn’t _want_ to spend all this time feeling sick to his stomach from a simple hand massage, let alone how bad it would be if he ever tried to do the other steps Stiles had outlined. But it could help, if he could bear it long enough. He could hug Isaac or put an arm over Jackson’s shoulders. He could get close enough to scent his Betas and feel like a decent Alpha for once.

With the blanket on Stiles’ bed already headed for the wash, Derek didn’t hesitate to pull off his jacket and drop it on the foot before sitting back down with his right leg propped up. “We’ll do another episode, but this is the last time.”

Stiles had no way to tell if Derek was lying, but he gave him a dubious look anyway before climbing back into his spot and clicking onto the next episode. He took Derek’s hand without question, but muttered under his breath, “Dread Pirate Roberts, much?”

“Shut it, Westley, or I may actually kill you in the morning,” Derek sighed.

He ignored the positively delighted look on Stiles’ face at understanding the reference. Derek had been on the run in New York, not living under a rock, and before then he’d been a normal teenager, werewolf or not.

— 

“What do you even do over there all the time?” Derek asked, not looking up from his plate of pasta.

Isaac shrugged. “Videogames. Sometimes we just sit on our phones. I don’t know, teenager stuff, Derek.”

Derek made a face at Isaac and shrugged back as mockingly as he could manage. “Well, whatever you’re doing, be done with it and back here by ten.”

Midway through tying his shoe, Isaac stopped and squinted at him. “Why?”

“Because I—”

“If you say because I said so, I will literally hate you forever,” Isaac cut in. “Haven’t any of your parenting books told you not to say that to kids?”

Instantly, Derek stiffened. “Who told you I had a parenting book?”

Book. Singular. It was just one that’d he’d picked up at the used bookstore, and only because it was _specifically_ about dealing with teenagers. Even so, only a fraction of it was even applicable to their situation. The rest was stuff even Derek knew was garbage. He’d been so careful to hide it too.

But Isaac had finished his shoes and looked smug enough to burst. “You did, dumbass. Just now.”

Swallowing down his embarrassment at being caught out, Derek schooled his face into the most asshole-parent expression he could and held up one finger. “First: stop calling me names, dingbat.” He held up a second finger. “Second, you didn’t let me finish. Be back by ten, because I want you home before I go to bed, so I know you’re safe.”

He was _definitely_ going to say “Because I said so,” but seeing Isaac falter at the new statement was worth it. And besides, it wasn’t actually a lie.

For a second, Isaac looked wrong-footed, but he caught his balance soon enough. “Ten-thirty.”

“Ten-fifteen.”

“Fine.”

“Isaac,” Derek said. Parenting book aside, he wasn’t all that comfortable with the more parental side of things, but the question had been itching at him for weeks. “When you’re with Stiles, you don’t hang out with Scott, do you?”

His shoulders drooped with relief when Isaac’s face pinched in disgust. He hadn’t thought Isaac would, but sometimes there was a little of McCall in his scent when he got home.

“No, I’ve already told him I don’t wanna be around Scott,” Isaac explained. He shrugged. “It kinda pisses him off, but it’s not like I can tell him _why_. You told me not to.” A pause, then he raised his eyebrows and added, “Which is stupid, by the way.”

It was far from the first time Isaac had pointed it out.

After getting so angry at Stiles for lying—even if it was just by omission—about Scott’s awareness of him being in the pack, Derek knew it was hypocritical to lie to him about Scott. He didn’t really care.

Scott, however much he made sparks of danger zap down Derek’s spine with his mere presence, was Stiles’ childhood friend. His brother, as Stiles said. It felt wrong to take that away.

When Derek learned that Peter was the one that killed Laura, it’d opened a void in his chest that left him gasping for breath. The betrayal from the last person he’d thought had his back had cut something out of him, and that was after six years away from Peter. If he told Stiles what Scott had done; the lies he’d told, working with _Gerard_ behind Stiles’ back and forcing Derek to bite the man whose daughter had murdered Derek’s family, who’d tortured Stiles’ pack and beaten Stiles bloody, it would destroy him. He wouldn’t be able to explain it away or apologize on Scott’s behalf like he’d been doing for months.

Scott was Stiles’ family, and Stiles had so little of it.

It wasn’t worth it to do that to him.

“Just be back by ten-fifteen,” Derek said. “And stay away from Scott.”

* * *

“Okay, I’m bored.” Stiles closed the lid of his laptop and spun his chair around, then around again before letting his socked feet skid against the carpet as he came to a stop. Isaac hadn’t even looked away from his own computer on the bed.

Sighing, Stiles spun again. “Bored.”

“Then do something.”

“There’s nothing to do,” Stiles whined. He kicked out a foot, jostling the mattress. “Hey, pause that.”

Isaac shook his head and continued tapping at the keys. “Doesn’t pause.”

“ _Isaaac._ ”

Stiles flinched when Isaac lifted his hands from his computer at the distinct sound of a _Game Over_ , huffing and pushing it off his lap. “Jesus, Miezko. You’re impossible to ignore, you know that?”

“It’s one of my many charms.” Stiles winked and threw a couple finger guns Isaac’s way, but the joke fell flat when he just narrowed his eyes.

“What do you _want_?”

Shoving up from where he’d slouched, Stiles pulled the chair forward a step and spun it even faster, tucking his feet down next to the leg to pick up speed. “I want something to do. I swear to god, I hate summer. Everything is just the same thing over and over. Play lacrosse, play videogames, watch TV. Rinse, repeat.” He shoved his feet down to stop, watching Isaac’s image blur until his eyes could catch up. Now that he’d started talking, he couldn’t keep himself from venting all the frustration he’d been trying to keep quiet. “I hate all of this sitting doing nothing. I can’t even go wander around the Preserve like I used to because there’s a bunch of fucked up Alphas on the loose. Only we haven’t caught sight or scent of them anywhere! They’re not even killing people, which I should be grateful for, but if they _were_ killing people maybe they’d be easier to find so we could get our fucking pack back.”

“You think this sucks for you? Do you have any idea how nuts this is driving me?” Isaac scowled. “Do you know how awful it is to _feel_ them? The bonds are still there. They’re still alive and they still want to be part of our pack and we can’t even find them! It’s been _months_. I’d give anything to just follow this cord right to them, and I can’t!”

“That’s my point!” Stiles jumped to his feet. “How am I supposed to enjoy being lazy all summer while nothing is happening, when at the same time things _are_ happening? Sitting in my room all day and only leaving to play lacrosse on a field in the daylight with werewolf supervision isn’t exactly my idea of a good time! It’s like being stuck in the fucking Cold War, just waiting for _anything_ to tip the scales. Why can’t we just—”

Isaac growled. “We can’t go into the woods, Miezko. If they could get Erica and Boyd, then they’d have no issues getting us.”

Having his plan shut down only made Stiles more jumpy, and he began to pace. “But what if we brought backup? We could comb the whole town, not just the preserve. We could put all your sniffing lessons to the test in public. You, me, Jackson, Scott—”

“Would you leave him out of it?” Isaac snapped.

Stiles froze and turned his head to look at Isaac. “Excuse me?”

“If anyone’s gonna find them, it’s not going to be McCall. Not that Erica and Boyd would want him to be the one to save them anyway.”

Stuttering a step forward, Stiles threw his arms out. “Alright, what is your _problem_ with Scott? Now you won’t even call him by his first name? Did Jackson teach you that?” Before Isaac could respond, Stiles continued, pointing a finger at him. “Scott could _help_ , you know that? Whatever the hell your issue is, he could help us find Erica and Boyd, and you guys being assholes to him and cutting him out of everything isn’t going to bring them back any faster! I don’t care if you think he’s a dick, this isn’t about you guys, it’s about Erica and Boyd. I can’t _believe_ you’re turning down someone who could bring them home just because you—”

“Because I what?” Isaac shouted, rising to his feet. “Because I hate his guts?”

“What’d he ever do to you?” Stiles cried.

Isaac’s face turned absolutely murderous, eyes snapping to gold and ears sharpening as he advanced on Stiles. “He didn’t have to do anything to _me_. Not when he told Erica he didn’t care she had seizures, not when he destroyed the ice at the rink where Boyd worked and almost got him fired. He attacked Boyd out of _nowhere_ when all Boyd wanted to do was talk to him and accused Derek of biting Jackson without permission and trying to kill him. He left you and Derek in that pool for _hours_ because he wouldn’t pick up the phone. I could list a dozen things Scott McCall did to use and abuse our entire pack, and you still wouldn’t fucking _get it_ , would you, Stiles?”

He’d started it, pushed and prodded until Isaac was pissed. This was entirely Stiles’ doing, but his ire had burned off, leaving him cold and frightened as Isaac got closer. He backed up from Isaac’s heat until his butt hit the edge of his desk and he was forced to stop. His hands flailed at his sides, gripping at nothing and squeezing into uncomfortable fists crushed against the tabletop.

Eyes up, eyes _up_.

“You’re so goddamn blind,” Isaac snarled. “You let him get away with _murder_ because according to you, the sun shines out of his ass. Just because you need him doesn’t mean any of the rest of us even want him around. Erica and Boyd sure as hell didn’t, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they _wanted_ to stay kidnapped rather than have him be the one to bring them back! You know who Scott McCall reminds me of, with all his righteous bitching and moaning about how unfair the world is and how it’s everyone else’s fault but his? My _dad_.”

Eyes down. Eyes _down_.

Stiles stopped breathing, stopped thinking, barely avoided putting his hands up to shield his face. Nothing but the carpet beneath him and the pounding of his heart.

“ _Miezko_?” came a whisper.

He didn’t move, just tightened inward, clenching every muscle in an effort not to tremble as a hand landed on his arm.

“I—shit.”

Isaac’s body encased him, wrapping tight around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace so firm Stiles didn’t dare trying to escape. He just breathed, too fast and too short, into Isaac’s t-shirt and didn’t move. When Isaac’s grip loosened, Stiles pulled away and put a little distance between them, enough that his back didn’t feel like it was going to break from being so tense. He coughed once, then plastered a grin on his face. “Even if we can’t go to the Preserve, we can still leave the house right? I need curly fries, so let’s go.”

But Isaac didn’t move when Stiles headed for the door. “Are you serious right now? We’re not gonna talk about that?”

Though the smile was hurting Stiles’ face, he didn’t let it fade. “Nope.”

Taking a single step forward across the floor, Isaac stuck his hands in his pockets. “Aren’t you mad at me or something?”

“Nope.” Stiles shook his head. That, at least, was true.

Finally, Isaac seemed appeased, but Stiles had to yank away from him when he went to grab his elbow on their way out the door.

“Just—” He didn’t bother to finish his sentence when Isaac immediately backed off.

It took until he’d finished his entire carton of curly fries for Stiles to relax enough to lean into Isaac’s side again, and Isaac took full advantage, curling around him almost protectively.

“So—”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Stiles snapped. “Ever.”

“Got it. Sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit of a mishmash, but hopefully in a good way? I know some stuff got a bit cheesy, like the lacrosse game, but man I like the cheese, and I think they deserve some cheese this summer. XP


	7. Bonding and Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is late today! Sleep is difficult and minecraft is distracting. *shrug*

The only reason Derek knew Isaac’s birthday was from filling out the paperwork to adopt him. Isaac had provided it almost begrudgingly the one time and never brought it up again.

As the day grew closer, Isaac didn’t hint at any wish for a party or specific gifts. The former was a relief, the latter a frustration. While having some kind of party was well out of Derek’s comfort zone, he would’ve appreciated the help with deciding what to get him.

Isaac was a weird combination of interests. Videogames, books he’d stolen from other people, and sugar, were the only discernible ones. Lacrosse was a non-starter, with Isaac willing to join in when Jackson or Stiles asked, but never suggesting it himself or showing any interest in how their practices went. Books that he hadn’t snagged from someone else didn’t even get opened.

It didn’t help that none of them were in a particularly celebratory mood. Erica and Boyd’s absence hovered over everything they did, leaving the rest of the pack subdued even when doing something fun. Their laughter never actually hit the excited pitch it was clearly aiming for, always dropping off or coming out without enough force.

Derek was trying. With the Preserve well combed and no hints of the Alpha pack, his options were limited. If they were still in the area, and that was an ‘if’ that grew with every passing day, it wasn’t as though he could just search the city foot by foot. He already took every chance he got to wander Beacon Hills, searching for the most out of the way places possible, following dark alleys and seeking out even the most faint scent of werewolf.

But he had nothing to show for it. His chances at finding them were dwindling, and if he couldn’t do it soon he would have to go to Scott and Deaton for help.

The fact that they were still alive was something he _clung_ to. He checked his bonds over and over, like thumbing through his pack members, just to make sure they were still there. While they didn’t fray any more than they had after his fight with them, being away from them for so long was still weakening the connection. Just like what’d happened with his bond with Peter after he and Laura went to New York, they were fading out, becoming less concrete.

Two days before Isaac’s birthday, with no ideas on how to even bring it up, let alone celebrate it, Derek cracked and texted Jackson.

_Do you know what Isaac wants to do for his birthday?_

**Jackson: Nothing.**

**__** _He doesn’t want to do anything?_

**Jackson: No, dude, remember the part about his Shit dad? His birthdays have always sucked. If you make a big deal about it he’ll Freak.**

**__** _I’m not going to ignore his birthday._

**Jackson: Fine, we’ll do a movie night. But Don’t bring up what day it is.**

**__** _Alright._

**Jackson: I’m serious, Don’t.**

**__** _I get it, Jackson._

**Jackson: And Don’t make cake.**

Derek didn’t even dignify that with a response.

—

He didn’t make cake; he made pie, relying on a one-off comment Isaac had once made as evidence he wouldn’t completely reject it. It was sugary, so his hopes were high.

Baking was familiar and easy, and every time he turned the oven on to preheat, Isaac ended up wandering into the kitchen to judge what he was making.

“When did you buy pie tins?”

Derek paused and glanced over at the tins sitting on the island next to his bowl of ingredients. “Last night? I realized we didn’t have any.”

Isaac snorted and sat on a stool, propping his elbows right onto the floured granite surface. “Hey Derek?”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you own anything?” He stuck a thumb over his shoulder. “I mean, from before we moved in here. Couldn’t you have your stuff sent here from New York?”

Slowly scraping the spoon around the sides of the bowl to catch the last bits of flour, Derek answered, “I brought my stuff with me when I came here.”

“Then what happened to it, cus’ I’ve only ever seen that one duffel bag.”

“Isaac, that _is_ my stuff.”

Isaac waved his hands. “No no, I mean your actual _stuff_. Furniture and pots and pans.”

Derek shrugged. “There was about enough to fill a cardboard box. It wasn’t really worth it to bring it all the way here.”

Another snort. “What? You’re filthy rich, how’d you have so little stuff?”

“We didn’t have access to our inheritance then, Isaac,” Derek explained. “Claiming it would mean revealing where we were, so we never actually did it. Most of our apartments came with furniture that stayed there when we left.”

Isaac’s eyes were big, and Derek stopped stirring to look at him. “What?”

“No wonder you’re such a hermit.”

“Shut up,” Derek sighed.

Jackson waltzed his way into the apartment like he owned the place and dropped into his favorite spot at the corner of the couch. He didn’t knock anymore, and today was no exception. “What’re we watching tonight?”

Gazing longingly at the pie crust Derek was in the middle of making, Isaac headed for the cupboard and pulled out a bag of popcorn. “ _Star Wars_. I haven’t watched it in fucking forever.”

In need of more sugar, Derek stepped over to Isaac’s side and leaned over his shoulder to grab the package from the shelf above the popcorn. He’d already turned back to his work before he realized Isaac had stopped moving.

Jackson laughed from the living room. “You’re about to make Meiszko’s night.”

Isaac was still holding the popcorn package, but he started moving again, slowly heading for the microwave and radiating happiness.

Derek squinted at his back to find the cause, then stopped.

He hadn’t even thought about it. Months of keeping his distance and he’d finally broken the personal bubble he enforced without even realizing it. And it hadn’t hurt.

Just to test, he went over again, under the pretense of grabbing a measuring spoon from the drawer, and bumped into Isaac’s side for a moment longer than necessary. Just a second or so of their shoulders pressed together.

Now that he was aware of it, there was definitely an undercurrent of tension, but it was minimal. Almost nothing compared to how irritating sitting next to Stiles was.

Derek went back to work fighting a smile.

Stiles arrived on the phone. Well, he didn’t technically arrive, since he stopped out in the hall, but Jackson hadn’t closed the door all the way so it was easy enough to hear him muttering to his caller. The frustration in his tone even prompted Derek to stop mixing and step over to the arch so he could look at the entrance to the loft.

 _“Yeah, I get it, man. I told you, I’m not planning on running into the woods shouting my head off, but you get that I’m already involved, right? You can’t protect me from everything. It’s not like I can just—”_ Footsteps skittered a little further away to accommodate Stiles’ hiss. _“Hey, those molotovs saved your life! Just because Deaton says—”_ The footsteps came closer, then Stiles groaned. _“Fuck. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Scott.”_

Derek snapped his head and body back to the counter when Stiles’ fingers curled around the door and pulled it the rest of the way open.

“Seriously? Why was the door open?” he asked.

Jackson’s voice was unrepentant. “I saw your car behind me on my way here. I was being _nice_ , fuckstick.”

Stiles clicked his tongue. “Uh huh. Right.”

“What was that about?” Isaac asked.

“You don’t actually wanna know, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so. What’re we doing tonight?”

“ _Star Wars._ ”

Stiles’ heartbeat jumped. “For real? Like, actually?”

Again, Derek paused what he was doing to check in on them, though now it was more curiosity than worry. Stiles was in the middle of kicking off his shoes, one foot halfway out of his Converse as he stared at Isaac and Jackson.

“Yeah, is that cool?” Isaac asked, a little quieter than before.

With only one shoe on, Stiles dashed across the room to jump on Isaac. “Dude, that’s awesome. You’re awesome. Have I mentioned that you have amazing movie taste?”

“Told you,” Jackson said smugly.

The amount of excitement and happiness filling the room was contagious, and Derek lost his fight with the smile. 

* * *

The urge to check that the others were enjoying the movie as much as Stiles was practically unbearable, but he managed to keep it nonverbal. He might have whiplash in his eyeballs from glancing so hard in everyone’s direction every ten seconds, but that was as far as he went.

There was another reason for him to try and keep his checking to a minimum, and that was for fear of scaring Derek.

Derek was being…normal. Not Derek normal, which was stilted and sarcastic and slightly judgy all the time, but _normal_ normal.

For one thing, he’d joined them in their movie watching, rather than retreating to his bedroom corner area like usual. For another, once the popcorn was made and Derek’s pie was in the oven, he’d sat on the couch. Next to Isaac. With his arm over Isaac’s shoulder.

No one dared comment, and Stiles tried not to even look at them for too long, since Derek had told him it always made it worse if attention was brought to his issues with touch.

It took a while for them all to relax, but by mid-movie Stiles was more worried about blasters and eating cherry pie than he was about Derek being tactile.

They were in the last quarter when Jackson nudged Stiles with his knee. “Meiszko, do the thing.”

Stiles’ face immediately began to burn. “ _No_ , dude. Why do you even remember that?”

Jackson leaned into him. “Come _on…_ ”

“What thing?” Isaac pressed. He was practically glowing from getting real contact with Derek for the first time, like a kid at Christmas. Didn’t make him any less nosy though.

“Mieszko has this thing—” Jackson caught Stiles’ hand before he could cover Jackson’s mouth. “He can do the R2-D2 sounds, like, perfectly.”

Stiles held up a finger from his trapped fist. “No! Not anymore, I haven’t done it in years!”

But Isaac had perked up. “Seriously? I wanna see. Mieszko, come on!”

“You’re missing the stuff!” Stiles pointed out, gesturing at the laptop screen on the coffee table.

Jackson snorted. “We’ve all seen it before, dude.”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted. “I’ll make you a deal.”

Stiles quieted. Derek never made deals. He was a very yes or no person. Compromise wasn’t in his vocabulary.

“If you do it, I will.”

Isaac’s excitement turned to Derek. “You can do it too?”

It was a lot more fun to watch Derek get embarrassed than to be the one under the spotlight. “Not R2-D2. My—” he coughed, and his eyes slid away from them. “My sister was obsessed with the Chewbacca sounds.”

If there was anything that would motivate Stiles, it was that mention of Derek’s sister.

His trick was one he’d done for his mother. When he was little they would watch the movie and he would whistle along every time R2-D2 had his little blips and squeals. His dad told him once, on a very drunken night, that he’d spent an entire week once refusing to talk in real words, just whistling instead. The entire time his mom had responded as though she knew just what he was saying.

“Now that, I gotta hear,” he declared. Shifting around until he was on his knees and facing the others, with an elbow on the back of the couch, Stiles took a deep breath and swallowed past the tightness in his throat.

He wasn’t kidding about not doing it in ages, so the first few chirps were a little rough, but after he got back into the rhythm, he let out a few long trills.

To end his little performance, Stiles put a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound and did the scream. Isaac and Jackson collapsed into laughter, and even Derek was clearly biting back a smile. Chuckling, Stiles pointed at him. “Your turn!”

Derek paid up. He kept his mouth covered as well, but the Chewy shout and chuffs that came out were spot on and Stiles cackled so hard he almost fell off the side of the couch.

By the time they were done, Stiles’ mouth hurt from smiling so wide and his throat ached with laughter. “I think I found my happy place,” he sighed, still laying back with his head over the arm of the couch.

—

“He made _pie_?” Heather asked, finally looking away from the document she’d been typing in. “Why pie?”

Stiles clicked viciously to finish off the enemy on his screen, then started heading for the nearest town to sell off his loot. “Cus’ Isaac’s not a huge birthday fan. Cake was kind of no-go, I guess.”

“You know that’s really sweet of you guys, right?” she pointed out. “Giving him a sort of party without making it a big deal?”

Shrugging, Stiles just said, “I mean, we didn’t do it to be sweet. We did it cus’ it’s what he deserves.”

Over their last few hangouts, Stiles had peppered in little things about what his life was like now. Nothing supernatural, but the highlights. Making up with Jackson. Being friends with Isaac. Even Derek, Stiles had managed to explain in a much better way than just “My cousin Miguel.”

“Tell me you’re not doing the adopting thing.”

Stiles looked up, his character finally in a safe enough spot for him to leave the screen alone without getting killed by an enemy. “No, Derek did that, remember?”

Heather huffed. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Feigning innocence, Stiles coughed out a laugh. “I don’t know anything, as you love to remind me, Heathcliff.”

“Stiles, you adopt literally everything you can get your hands on.”

“I do not!”

“You once brought an injured snake home to your dad and made him let you nurse it back to health.”

Stiles gaped. “That was a boa! Who wouldn’t want a boa for a pet?”

“It was a corn snake and you know it. That’s the only reason he let you keep it for as long as he did.”

With the conversation going the way it normally did, Stiles outright closed his game and then his laptop all together. “Okay, but that was one time. One point doesn’t make—”

“Ah ah,” Heather stopped him. “Then there was joining the lacrosse team with Scott so he wouldn’t be alone, even though you didn’t even _like_ it.”

“I _love_ lacrosse!”

“You do now, but you didn’t then! And that’s not the point. You take responsibility for everyone who gets close enough to let you. Isaac’s not a kid, Stiles.”

Stiles groaned and flopped around to lay down on Heather’s mattress and look at her ceiling, where the glow-in-the-dark stars from middle school were still hanging on strong. “I get it. Okay, so maybe I’m a little over-parental, but it’s not like I’m packing him lunches! It’s not like that. He’s pa—” Stiles choked on his words.

God, he wanted to tell her. He didn’t keep secrets from Heather, ever. She knew everything about him and vice versa, right down to the first time she got her period and his first sex dream.

“I can’t really explain it, but he’s basically family. I’m kinda hardwired to worry about him at this point.”

Humming, Heather jumped onto the bed and dropped back with her head on his chest. “Okay, fine. I believe you for now. But if you start talking about making him a sweater or something—I _will_ judge you.”

“Noted.”

“Good.” Heather nodded against him, and then they laid in silence for a little bit. Eventually, she lifted a hand, holding it against their view of the ceiling. “What was that constellation you—”

“The duck,” Stiles interrupted. He lifted his hand as well, dragging it up her arm to join her fingers at their height and finish making the awkward shape of the stars that he’d pointed out a long time ago. “Right…there.”

Heather hummed again, then twisted her fingers with his and pulled both their hands down to her chest to play with his knuckles. “Hey, Stiles? Do you remember the seventh grade?”

Stiles snorted. “Vaguely?”

“Right, well how about that sleepover where you asked me to let you practice for when you eventually got to kiss Lydia Martin?”

Stiles laughed, because there was no other response he could think of besides melting in embarrassment. “I thought we swore not to talk about that.”

It’d been ridiculously awkward for them to try out kissing for the first time together. He’d headbutted her and they’d laughed hard enough to get scolded by her parents for being too loud. It was about as good a first kiss as any, he supposed. Not that he had any others to compare it to.

Twisting around, Heather crouched over him, not quite lined up with his face. Her hair fell onto his nose and mouth for a second, and he spluttered as he pushed it back behind her ears. “What if I wanted to try something like that again?”

“What?”

“Would you let me practice with you again?”

Heat was slowly flooding Stiles’ body, enough settling in his face that he was sure he was turning red. “Uh, practice for what? I told you, Lydia’s off the table.”

Heather chuckled and shuffled a little more, getting closer. “No, I mean practice for me. For when I eventually find somebody.”

“Someone you have in mind?”

“Maybe. You’re dodging the question.”

“Maybe. Are you sure?” Stiles couldn’t think of anyone he would feel more comfortable doing something like this with, but Heather had her own social circle at Beacon River High, with plenty of other options for kissing practice.

The answer seemed a bit obvious with how far down Heather had leaned, until they were barely an inch apart. “Definitely.”

Stiles barely had to lift his head to catch her lips with his own, the bare minimum of a kiss.

“Thoughts?” Heather whispered, when they separated a second later.

“Definitely better than last time.” Stiles nodded as he spoke. As though it had a mind of its own, his hand slid around to her neck and tugged her down to meet him again.

He left her house late, with hot lips, a nearly permanent blush all the way down his neck, and a smile he couldn’t have shoved down if he tried.

* * *

With barely more than a month before school started and almost three months gone by while Erica and Boyd were in the hands of the Alpha pack, Derek was getting desperate. He was out of ideas, and actually talking to Scott was starting to look like his only option.

At least, until Stiles made a passing comment about his father’s workload, and a lightbulb turned on.

“Stiles, would your dad help us?”

Stiles blinked at him from where he was trying to eat a cookie whole at the kitchen island. “Uh, with what?”

Though his eye twitched at the sound of Stiles trying to talk through a mouthful of food, Derek didn’t let it distract him. “Could he look for Erica and Boyd? Without losing his job, I mean.”

Choking through his food as he realized the seriousness of the topic, Stiles managed to sound a little less like a chipmunk when he said, “He already is. Has been for months, but there’s only so much he can do about missing kids.”

“What if we gave him more information? What if he didn’t look for Erica and Boyd specifically, but for the Alpha pack?”

That got Stiles’ attention. “That—that could work.” He reached for his phone, but paused once it was in his hand. “Derek, I know you said you didn’t—”

“Just have him come over here so we can talk to him.”

With a clear breath of relief, Stiles nodded and sent a text. “He’s off work this afternoon, so he should be here soon.”

Isaac was still cracking his own cookie into small chunks at his stool. “How is he gonna find the Alpha pack? We don’t know anything about them.”

“I do,” Derek said. “Hopefully enough to at least get him started.”

Stiles’ energy ratcheted up the longer they waited for Noah to arrive, until he was actively pacing and wringing his hands. Though he checked his phone about a dozen times, he always put it back in his pocket with a frown, as though he didn’t get what he wanted. “Okay, so ground rules,” he said after a few minutes. “Just, my dad knows what he needs to know. But don’t start any of your ‘Stiles is a weak human’ things, okay? You’ll freak him out. And try not to look so murdery. Yeah, that face, stop it. Just let me do the talking.”

When he could hear Noah on the landing, Derek went over to the door and pulled it open, heedless of Stiles’ shocked noise. “Sheriff.”

“Derek,” Noah said, stepping inside. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks!” Isaac chirped, swinging his feet and taking a bite. “Derek’s garbage at interior decorating.”

Noah nodded at him. “Isaac.”

The volcano that was Stiles was about to burst, and Derek narrowly suppressed a sigh at the inevitable interruption to his conversation with Noah.

“ _I like what you’ve done with the place_?” Stiles hissed. “That—that’s _it_? Dad, what—how’d you even know where to go? You were supposed to text me when you got outside!” He spun to Derek. “And you? After all your warnings about—and you’re just standing there. Did I hit my head? Is this the Twilight Zone?”

“Stiles,” Noah groaned.

Rolling his eyes, Derek explained, “He’s been here before.”

Stiles looked like he’d finally lost it. While he wandered away to mutter obscenities to himself, Derek got on with their actual business. “Sheriff, we wanted to ask for your help with finding Erica and Boyd.”

Noah grimaced. “I’m afraid I can’t do much more than I already have. There’s only so many search parties I can call for, and without any more clues as to their whereabouts—”

“But what if you weren’t looking for _them_?” Derek interrupted. “Has Stiles explained the Alpha pack to you?”

Slowly, Noah nodded. “Yes, for the most part. I know that they’re a bunch of serial killers, if that’s what you mean. And that they’ve got the kids.”

“If I could give you information on them, could you find them, or at least tell me if we’re even looking in the right spot?”

“You—you _know_ who these people are?”

“I know a little, and Peter told me what he knew when we first started looking.”

Behind Noah’s shoulder, Stiles had suddenly begun to wave his hand in front of his throat, but he smacked the heel of his hand into his forehead when Noah spoke up again.

“Peter? As in the _late_ Peter Hale?”

Isaac chuckled. “I mean, he might be late, but that didn’t stop him from party-crashing a few months ago.” He snorted at his own pun, and Derek had to fight back the smile that wanted to come out. It was a horrible joke, but his lip still twitched.

“ _Dude_ ,” Stiles whined. “Too soon.”

Raising a hand to point at the door, as though Peter was right outside, Noah took a breath. “Are you telling me…Peter Hale is…”

Finally, Stiles came up to his dad’s side to rejoin the conversation. “Back from the dead, Pops. Sorry, I kind of forgot to mention it.”

“Oh, we are definitely talking about this later,” Noah said, aiming his words at Stiles before turning back to Derek. “For now, tell me what you know. If they’re in the system then I might be able to pull up their current residences. If not, well, we’ll go from there.”

The excitement of having a new possible lead faded as Derek realized just how little he had to offer on the information front. “I know that their leader’s name is Deucalion, but I can’t tell you whether it’s a first or a last name. There are at least two others; Callie Brooks and Ennis Bosser.”

“Ennis?” Noah looked down and then around, rubbing at his chin. “Why does that sound so familiar? Anyway, that’s good. Physical descriptions? Ages?”

“Ennis is…” Derek took a breath. “Big. Bald, as far as I know. Strong. As for age, he looks younger than you? The others…I don’t know.”

Stiles lifted a finger to jump in. “Are we talking _you_ strong or like, normal strong?”

Derek met Stiles’ eyes and hoped he would actually get this into his head. “I’m talking much _much_ stronger. Compared to him, I’m…” he looked around for an example. “I’m Isaac.”

“Hey!” Isaac cried.

Noah was writing things down in a notepad, “Ennis? That is gonna bug me for days,” he muttered. Then, he looked up. “So, big, bald, and built. Anything else?”

Wracking his brain for a few seconds, Derek finally shook his head. “Nothing I can think of.”

“It’s a start. I’ll let you know if I get anything, but Derek,” Noah clutched at his notepad, “this is going to take time, keeping this under the radar. Don’t expect any miracles.”

He tucked the pad in his pocket and nodded at Stiles. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, actually I’m supposed to—”

“Stiles.”

“To go home with you and have a lovely father-son conversation that I’m _definitely_ looking forward to!” Stiles course-corrected, following his dad to the door.

They were still in range, clanging down the steps while Stiles tried to defend his lapse in memory, when Isaac came up to Derek’s side. He looked at the door with Derek for a second, then asked, “Are we ever going to find them?”

It wasn’t completely comfortable, but Derek’s senses didn’t protest him pulling Isaac into a hug. “I hope so.”

* * *

Stiles still had his doubts when it came to Peter. There wasn’t exactly a way for him to find out whether Peter was right, since Jennifer was dead. Peter could’ve made the entire thing up just to get Stiles off his tail. Not that Stiles could’ve done anything against him anyway.

But why would he make Stiles keep the secret, if his goal was to make everyone trust him? What was the point in having Stiles believe he wasn’t entirely at fault for what he’d done, but not letting Derek lower his guard?

He kept coming around the loft, usually while Derek was out and it was just Stiles and Isaac, or both of them with Jackson. At first, Stiles thought he was trying to pinpoint when they were alone and fair game. But when he showed up it was only ever to sit in the kitchen while they were in the living room, or pass out on the couch if they were in the kitchen. Then he’d leave, and about ten minutes later Derek would show up. He didn’t even talk to them unless Isaac said something first, usually tossing a vague insult his way, which Peter effortlessly retorted even out of what looked like dead sleep.

He was their supervision. Self-appointed supervision apparently, because Derek never admitted to asking him to go over and when Stiles pushed the point, he just told him to make Peter leave if it bugged him that much. It almost felt like a compliment that he thought Stiles could force Peter out if he wanted to.

Stiles didn’t. Because he didn’t. He didn’t like Peter, didn’t trust him. Like he’d said, he still _did_ the things Derek blamed him for. Including attacking Lydia and possessing her.

But he never even came close to crossing a line, like Stiles expected. Never gave him the _chance_ to get annoyed and kick him out. Peter didn’t come near them most of the time, and if random circumstances meant getting in their space he _never_ touched any of them.

Actually, the weirdest thing about it all was that the few times Derek and Peter were in the same space and talking to each other, Peter _didn’t_ call Derek ‘my nephew.’ It was normally his favorite thing to say, and the absence struck Stiles immediately.

Even when he appeared at the loft one day while they were all there, a bag over his shoulder and a disapproving look that Stiles would’ve expected to see on his own dad’s face, rather than Peter.

“Derek,” he said, though it sounded wrong, like it was a bad placeholder for the word “Nephew.” “If you can’t take care of your things, you can’t have them anymore.”

It was a classic dad line, which only served to make Stiles wince at the sudden reminder that Peter _was_ a dad, once. It would’ve hit the mark way better if he’d used the nickname, and Peter was too much of an asshole not to know that, but for some reason he hadn’t.

“The books!” Isaac cried, rushing over to grab the bag. He brought it over to the table and immediately pulled it open, yanking out a dusty and worn looking book. “I totally forgot about these. Mieszko, these are definitely your kind of thing.”

Eyeing Peter like he always did, Stiles headed for the table too and peered at the canvas bag. It was an absolute _gold mine_. The books Isaac was pulling out and stacking up had names like _Ancestors of the Wild_ and _The Hunt._ It took effort for Stiles not to groan with happiness. “Where have these been all my life? Specifically the last five months of my life?”

“If I’d known it was that easy to win you over, I would’ve brought these much sooner,” Peter said. “Please keep the drooling to a minimum, those are family heirlooms.”

Just to prove that he hadn’t been won over, really, he _hadn’t_ , Stiles flipped Peter off and went back to staring.

The sound of Derek speaking right behind him made Stiles jump. He still wasn’t used to Derek invading his space without being pissed off at him. “They’re not going to be as helpful as you think.”

Stiles whirled, the book in his hands smacking Derek on the arm. “It’s better than the black hole of information I’ve had until now. You know, you’re not exactly easy to get details from.” He clutched the book close and shuffled to stand behind Isaac as he flipped open the cover. He was careful, but eagerness couldn’t be helped at the prospect of getting _real_ information about werewolves from sources that were apparently trustworthy enough for an actual pack to keep them around.

_Predators under the Stars_

“Thank you, Peter,” Derek said, and that amount of begrudgement should’ve been illegal.

“You’re lucky they were under a roofed section of the living room.”

“I wasn’t worried about books the last time I was there.”

_Astrology is probably the single most important aspect of understanding our past, present, and future. Though others may mock the study of the stars, it’s important to note that the trustworthiness of such individuals should be severely questioned. Anyone who denies the connection between werewolves and the night sky is suspect._

Stiles sucked in a breath through his teeth and let out a dubious, high pitched tone. “Uh…”

He didn’t want to be the idiot that claimed bullshit on a text that the Hales had clearly thought worthy of keeping safe. And yet…

Derek’s sigh was far too knowing. “Which one is it?”

Holding up the book so its title was visible got him another sigh. “Check the author.”

 _“_ Frederick Hale,” Stiles read out loud. “Oh! I see how it is.”

A chuckle drew his attention back to Peter, who was still standing next to the door, keeping more than his distance. “That would be your great-great-uncle, I believe, Derek. There should be a few more of his in that bag, useless as they are.”

Which meant that Stiles wasn’t getting the font of information he’d been hoping for. He was getting a pile of books written by Hale ancestors that the rest of them were too loyal to get rid of. “Awesome. Alright, Constantine, you gonna help me find something worth reading in these?”

When no one else in the room responded to the nickname, Peter made a surprised ‘o’ with his mouth and walked into the loft. “Oh, that’s me, is it? So glad to see I’ve been reduced to a comic book character.”

“We all have,” Isaac commiserated.

Stiles shooed him away from the table to make room for Peter. “Yeah, yeah, you’re all welcome. You have no idea how much thought I put into your names, so you’re stuck with them. No returns, no exchanges until I decide. Now, which books should I avoid?”

Derek snorted. “Pretty much anything with a title that could be on the cover of a romance novel.”

“Great.”

* * *

“Hey, Derek?”

Derek hummed, not looking away from their episode. It was his pick, and however much Stiles had teased him about the equally stereotypical choice of _Charmed_ , he stood by it.

The hands on his shoulders paused, catching Derek’s attention.

Once he’d stopped trying to find excuses to stop the sessions, they were actually able to progress. Derek couldn’t shake how strange it was, but he also couldn’t fault the fact that it seemed to be working. He could actually scent mark Isaac, Jackson, and Stiles, grabbing at their shoulders and ruffling their hair until they fussed about it getting ruined. He felt more like an Alpha now.

Moving onto the shoulders from his hands had been awkward, to say the least, but he’d settled into it faster than when they’d first started. Now he could actually focus on what they were watching, instead of spending the entire time trying to will his patience to last a little longer before he needed space.

Taking full advantage of knowing Derek wouldn’t fight him about it, Stiles laid one bent elbow on Derek’s shoulder, the point sliding against Derek’s shirt a little, and dropped his chin on it. “Why don’t you know anything about humans? I mean, yeah, you hate people and there weren’t any in your pack, but as far as I know, the majority of sentient beings are human. How’d you get around life without figuring stuff out?”

“I never looked, I guess,” Derek admitted. He lifted a hand to gesture at the show. “You don’t realize how much you do that’s the same as us, even if you don’t get it. Humans are still animals.”

Stiles snorted. “I assume that’s the general ‘you,’ right? But what about school? You said you graduated college. That requires talking to people.”

“We were homeschooled until high school, Stiles, and I did college online. Besides, it’s not like the topic at work ever got around to scent glands. You don’t ask each other if you’ve got two ears, why would I think anyone would mention scent marking?”

That was the part that seemed to stick in Stiles’ craw the most, knowing that Derek had no clue humans didn’t scent mark.

Derek shifted around until he was facing Stiles. “We don’t start spending time around humans until high school, and then after that when we get jobs. But making friends outside the pack isn’t common, and it _doesn’t_ happen with humans. How was I supposed to know you’re any different?”

“But how’d you get through biology class?” Stiles pushed.

“How do any teenagers get through biology class?” Derek retorted.

“Touche. Alright, lemme get back to work.” Stiles scrunched his hands in a grabby motion.

He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he was already tactile. So far Derek had been the one to decide when they stopped _every_ session, because Stiles barely seemed to notice time passing. He just zoned out, almost entirely silent except when he laughed at something going on on-screen or quoted a line of dialogue along with a character. His dedication managed to be both awkward and reassuring. Stiles was so busy _trying_ that he never got around to turning it into a joke or saying something stupid that would make Derek want to leave, and he never got uncomfortable with having to be in Derek’s personal space for an hour or two at a time.

Looking down at his hands, Derek bit the bullet. “What was step four?”

Stiles had been up on his knees in preparation for Derek moving, but at his words he sat back on his legs. “Uh, part four is the full back. Why?”

“Go ahead.”

* * *

Stiles couldn’t help the suspicious squint he aimed at Derek, but he kept his mouth shut while he thought it over. Derek hadn’t snapped at him for a couple weeks, now that they were on step three. If he really was that comfortable, then that was the right time to try the next thing, right?

“Okay.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek shifted and put his back to Stiles again. “That’s what I thought.”

Sticking his tongue out at Derek when he couldn’t even be seen made Stiles feel like a six-year-old, but a very satisfied six-year-old. “Shut it, or I’ll start calling you Piper instead of Peter Pan.”

“I was a Phoebe, you dumbass. Second-youngest.”

Stiles had to cough his laughter into his elbow at the implications of Derek being the wild child. “Yeah, but you cook _and_ you do the mothering thing, you’re a perfect post-Prue Piper. Wow, say that five times fast.”

He ignored Derek’s growl and shifted himself so he could sit cross-legged and not knock himself over. Then, he stopped and lifted one knee to prop his elbow on while he glared at Derek’s Henley-covered back and chewed on his thumb.

How was he even supposed to start?

Secretly—because he was sure if Derek got even a whiff of Stiles being uncomfortable, he’d bolt—Stiles wasn’t looking forward to this part.

It wasn’t exactly an ego boost to spend dedicated time with someone where he made them uncomfortable with just his hands on their shoulders. Stiles had spent years giving Scott and Heather massages, and more lately even Isaac and Jackson. His ability to make people feel good with a simple, platonic touch was important to him. It made him feel connected to them. Now he _knew_ that the recipient wasn’t remotely enjoying it, and it was kind of awful.

At least he could forgive himself for sucking at hand and shoulder massages. They were awkward places to reach and didn’t give him much space to work. But back massages were his specialty. Now he had to use them against someone.

Not his favorite pastime.

“Stiles, what are you doing?”

Stiles snapped into action, letting reflex guide him as he scrubbed his hands on his jeans and reached for the back of Derek’s shoulders. “Chill, I’m trying to figure out where you’re least likely to break my fingers. Is being made of rock like an Alpha requirement?”

“Yes,” Derek said, deadpan.

Almost immediately, Stiles wanted to stop, and it had almost nothing to do with how stiff and tense Derek got. That part was normal to him at this point, as messed up as that was. “Dude, I cannot see the screen like this. I need the distraction or I’m gonna talk in your ear nonstop and neither of us wants that.” Not to mention that he couldn’t reach like half of Derek’s back without scooting even further back, and he was already up against the headboard. The angle was all wrong, and it was an affront to his abilities. If he was gonna do this, he was at least gonna do it right.

Huffing like Stiles was the one causing issues here rather than their position, Derek slapped the spacebar and lifted the laptop with one hand. “Move.”

“Move? Move where?” Stiles asked, even as he scrambled over to the side, narrowly catching himself before he could fall into the gap next to the wall.

Derek didn’t answer, too busy rolling to his own side and planting the laptop on the pillow. Then he laid on his stomach, his arms folded under his cheek so he could still watch. “You make things so difficult,” he muttered without heat. Pressing play, he went right back to the show without even acknowledging how weirded out Stiles was.

Because Derek was laying down, and he wasn’t unconscious, dying, or both. Sure, Stiles saw him chilling on his dumb bed in the loft once in a while, but this was actually _laying_. He hadn’t even know Derek was capable of that with non-pack members in the room.

Oh, wait. Stiles _was_ pack.

Right.

Stiles grumbled to himself to shove down the stupid happy feeling at being reminded he was _pack_ and therefore _trusted_ by even his paranoid Alpha. “It’ll overheat like that, stupid.”

He nearly tripped getting around the bed to grab the laptop fan he kept on his desk, but once he’d plugged it in and properly bitten back the snort of laughter at seeing Derek’s face half hidden in his arm like a little kid, he got back on the bed. There wasn’t enough room for him to sit flat, but the new angle meant he didn’t need to, so he went back to kneeling, this time at Derek’s side.

Easy access, and a decent view of the laptop. Derek had had the right idea.

The low vibration through Derek’s body at the first touch was a warning sign Stiles was getting familiar with, and he wasn’t particularly surprised. Laying with his back to Stiles had to be way more uncomfortable than sitting up was, but Derek didn’t move. After a second, he coughed into his arm, and the growl stopped.

Back to work then. “Go back a few seconds, I missed stuff.”

“No.”

“You’re such an ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Notes: So, some of you may have noticed a name change in this chapter, and while it won't really come up until next season, I feel like it's important that I mention it now. In short; the presentation of Kali on the show was really offensive and racist. If you didn't know, Kali is the name of a Hindu goddess, a protector of the innocent who destroys evil and is referred to as the Divine Mother, and not only is she portrayed as non-Indian, but she's made out to be a vicious, sadistic, killing machine. The first time I watched TW I had no clue about the implications of her name, but more recently I was made aware.  
> After a lot of thought, I decided that to me, it makes more sense to change who this character is entirely, rather than just change Kali's name. This might not be the most popular decision, but it's what I chose to do. Now, instead of Kali, we have Callie, who is a completely different person with the traits described in the show. I hope that it works out.  
> I also gave them last names, bc it just seems unrealistic for them all to have Only first names?
> 
> Anyway! Thanks for reading! I can't believe there's only one chapter left before we're done with this installment. \OoO/ I'm slightly terrified.


	8. Goodbyes and Soon-to-Be Hellos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH NO. We're at the end of the fic. What am I supposed to do now??
> 
> The answer is: Work on the next damn season.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter! All talk about the posting schedule/plan for Season 3A will be in the end notes.

Derek was expecting a call from Jackson. They all were, which was why Stiles was currently sprawled on their floor, moaning at the unfairness of Isaac making him do sit-ups as they waited.

“C’mon, Miezsko, you gotta work harder if you wanna keep up. I can do more upside _down_.”

“You’re cheating,” Stiles groaned. “You’re actually magically cheating, and I hate it. I hate werewolves. Bodybuilder bastards.”

Stiles only ever used insults that referred to parents when Jackson wasn’t in the room. No ‘bastard’s or ‘son-of-a-bitch’s or ‘motherfucker’s ever passed his lips if Jackson was nearby. Not after their last fight, at least. Isaac had clearly picked up on it, because he’d stopped doing it too.

It was interesting, watching them adjust and adapt to each other. Isaac and Jackson did it for Stiles too, though Derek wasn’t sure if he’d even realized.

They seemed to have noticed it on accident, that Stiles hated cups. Whenever he was asked if he wanted a drink of something, Stiles usually said yes, but if it showed up in a cup he never even looked at it, just hummed his thanks before leaving it on the coffee table or counter and ignoring it. Jackson seemed to be the one to figure it out first, because one day he’d swiped the cup up—which Stiles didn’t even respond to, though that might’ve been because he was in one of the research holes that meant he couldn’t hear anything outside of his computer—and replaced it with a reusable water bottle.

It was empty twenty minutes later.

Reusable water bottles, plastic water bottles, anything with a straw. Even a thermos, Stiles was fine with. Anything that had an open lip, he wouldn’t touch. He didn’t even drink the milk from his cereal or the broth from his soup.

Then there was the fact that Stiles was very particular about things touching the front of his neck. Headlocks like the one Isaac had attempted on the first moon of the summer were a no-go, along with any chokeholds, no matter how gentle or faked. That one, Derek was pretty sure he knew the reasoning for. Stiles getting his jugular stepped on by Matt was horrible just to listen to, and he’d seen the same kind of marks on Stiles’ neck when he appeared at the warehouse, implying that Gerard had used a similar tactic.

Nobody in the pack was willing to touch either subject with a ten-foot-pole. 

Which was nice. As horribly soft as it made him feel, Derek was grateful that his pack members were bonded enough to try to avoid upsetting each other. Well, _really_ upsetting each other, since they still fought like children.

Case in point, Stiles was rolling around with Isaac on the floor, making angry noises that would sound fake to a five-year-old. His hands flailed and thwapped at Isaac every time he was overpowered, but they never formed actual fists. Another precaution, this time for Isaac’s sake.

Derek was about twenty seconds away from throwing a couch pillow at them when the door at the bottom of the building slammed shut, just loud enough for him to catch it.

“Stop,” he said, voice unconsciously tipping back into the tone he’d adopted while they were hiding at his house in the woods. When there was danger at every corner.

Isaac froze, but Stiles took a moment longer to register something was different, quieting a little slower.

Derek’s internal debate over whether to send the others up the back stairs to hide, wait for whoever it was to get to the door, or meet them out in the hall, was solved when a short shout cut through the air outside the loft. “Jackson!” Derek cried.

He was off the couch and pulling open the door before Isaac or Stiles had managed to get standing.

The blur at the end of the hall slammed into his front, and Derek had a split second of outrage at being grabbed before he was busy hugging Jackson back and fighting to get through the waves of distressed chemosignals filling the space.

Stopping the images of worst case scenarios from flicking through his mind was impossible, and they centered around two people.

The reason they’d been waiting for a call from Jackson was because after ages of arguing and frustration, Derek had finally given Jackson permission to tell his parents about the supernatural. His mother and father, who were painfully human and whom they hadn’t taken even a second to worry about this summer because they’d been so busy with Jackson’s anchor and finding Erica and Boyd.

When the first words Jackson managed to sob out into his shoulder were, “My _parents_ ,” Derek’s heart jumped into his throat. Had the Argents gone after Jackson’s parents out of revenge for the Kanima and Gerard? Was it part of Allison’s strange vendetta against him?

“You have to _stop_ them. You have to do something!” Jackson’s voice was raw, like he’d been screaming and hadn’t had a chance to heal. “You _have_ to!”

He pulled away far enough for Derek to see his bright red face and the _furious_ tears streaming down it. Jackson slammed his fists against Derek’s chest for a second, then immediately changed direction and began yanking on his arm.

“Tell them! Tell them that you’re my Alpha and they can’t do this! There’s gotta be laws about this, right? Derek, you fucking idiot, tell them!” he shouted.

“Jack!” Isaac cried, reaching for him only to flinch away when Jackson threw a fist out sideways to keep him from coming closer. “What the hell happened?”

Jackson was grimacing so hard he looked like he was shutting down. “They can’t _do_ this. I’m not leaving!”

Derek’s heart, what little of it he had left, shattered.

“Leaving?” Stiles asked. “What the fuck does that mean?” When Jackson didn’t respond, Stiles stepped forward and grabbed at Jackson’s wrist when it went to push him away too. “Jackson! What the _fuck_ do you mean leaving?”

Far too late, Derek noticed blood dripping from Jackson’s hand and grabbed his arm away from Stiles to force his fingers out. They were tipped in claws that Jackson clearly couldn’t control, which was why he’d lashed out with fists instead.

Finding his voice, Derek kept one hand on Jackson’s palm to keep him from curling it closed again and put the other under his chin, forcing him to look at him. The shift was already forcing itself forward, so he let his eyes turn red. “Jackson, what _happened_?”

“I did what you said!” Jackson snapped. “I did everything! The whole stupid explanation. And they fucking _freaked out_. My dad is packing my room! They said they’re getting me out of the country before you get me killed. Derek, you have to stop them! Go! Scare them like you were trying to scare me! Make them let me stay.”

“I—” Derek stared at Jackson and tried in vain not to show that his stomach had turned to lead. “I—Jackson, I _can’t_.”

Jackson looked like he’d been smacked, and he actually took a step back. “What?” he croaked.

For the first time since Laura was alive, Derek reached out and pulled someone back in when they tried to back away from his touch. “No, Jackson, stop it. That’s not—I can’t because they’re your parents. These are your _parents_.”

Anger seemed to be the only thing that was holding Jackson together, and once he stopped to realize he didn’t _actually_ want the shit scared out of his own parents, he crumpled. All the false bravado and douchebaggery he carried around disappeared. “I don’t want to leave,” he whimpered. “Please.”

“No!” Isaac growled, turning around to storm into the loft. He returned with something in his hand and it jangled as he chucked it Stiles’ way. “This isn’t happening.”

“Isaac,” Derek warned.

Stiles’ own face had hardened, and he headed for the stairs with Isaac on his heels.

“Isaac! Stiles, stop!”

* * *

The first time Stiles had gotten this angry, he’d been sitting in his Jeep outside Isaac’s house, the night of his bite. Then, he hadn’t understood what was going on, and he’d just shoved it down and gone home.

Now, Stiles ignored the fact that he and Isaac were both barefoot and charged the Whittemore house through the front door.

It was a wreck, first and foremost. There were claw marks against one wall where Jackson seemed to have lost control of his shift, which was in and of itself terrifying, since it never happened. The coffee table was turned over, and the door they came in through hadn’t even been latched; the knob was splintered so badly it was barely still in the wood.

Jackson’s Porsche was still parked outside, which meant he’d _run_ to the loft.

Isaac was growling, probably at whatever emotions he could smell in the main room, but he led the way toward Jackson’s room with perfect focus.

A woman was crying, bawling really, and when they came around the corner through the doorway, Jackson’s mom shrieked. She was sitting on Jackson’s bed, holding one of his t-shirts, with a suitcase beside her half filled with his clothes.

At the sound of her scream, David Whittemore appeared from behind the door, books in his hands that he dropped as he recognized who they were. 

“You can’t take him away from us!” Stiles was almost shocked he was the one speaking, rather than Isaac. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“I am getting my son away from a bunch of _monsters_ ,” Whittemore hissed, waving his hands at the two of them. “You—you tormented him into this, didn’t you? Is that why you locked him up in a van? I won’t let you poison him any more than you already have! Turning him into—into—”

Isaac snarled, his eyes bright gold. “Into a werewolf.”

Stiles took a step forward. “It’s not a bad word. He isn’t hurt! He _asked_ for the bite and he’s happy here. You can’t separate him from his pack!”

“I’ll do whatever I damn well please!” he shouted.

Something about what he’d said set Isaac off, and Stiles didn’t have time to recite Terry Pratchet to him. He’d shifted completely now, furious and snapping his teeth. “He isn’t your _property_.”

Whittemore’s already red face turned even darker, nearly purple with rage. “He is my _son_ and I will keep him safe! Get out my house before I have every single one of you mutts thrown in jail.”

“Please,” Stiles begged, unsure what other option they had. “You don’t understand what you’re doing. Let us explain. Let me get my dad to explain! Let me get Derek!”

“I said, ‘Get out!’”

Whittemore rushed them, genuinely looking like he was going to chase them out of the house.

Stiles yanked on Isaac, who was apparently too surprised to keep his place, and scrambled back out of the room. This was a lost cause. The Bermuda Triangle of lost causes. Mr. Whittemore was already predisposed to hating all of them. Stiles and Isaac because of what’d happened with the van, and Derek because he knew Isaac. And because he’d bitten Jackson. Stiles’ dad wasn’t an option either, and he didn’t even _know_ Scott or Melissa so why would he ever listen to them?

The only thing they could do was get back to Jackson.

It hurt to walk into the loft, broken and defeated, and see Jackson curled up at Derek’s side on the couch like a child. Derek’s own eyes were closed as he rested his chin on Jackson’s head, breathing so steadily that Stiles could tell he was counting out his inhales and exhales.

He wasn’t remotely shifted. No red eyes or fangs or claws over Jackson’s shoulder, no growling.

Without a single werewolf trait visible, Derek looked more like an Alpha than Stiles had ever seen him.

Jackson startled a little when they showed up, but he’d barely blinked wet, miserable eyes open at them before seeming to realize that they’d failed.

“It’s not fair,” Isaac whispered. “I can’t lose another pack member.”

“You won’t,” Derek said. “You aren’t.” He opened his eyes, finally revealing red irises, and held out an arm for Isaac.

Stiles watched him go and tuck himself under Derek’s other arm, the two wolves Derek had taken “under his wing.” He didn’t move. Not because he didn’t think he belonged—after _months_ he thought it was finally sinking in that he _did_ belong with them—but because he couldn’t figure out who he wanted to be closest to.

Finally, Jackson’s hand, which’d been flopped against his side, twitched in a grabbing motion, and Stiles headed for him. He sat down on the couch and leaned over to the side against Jackson’s back, tucking his now incredibly dusty feet up behind him just like Jackson had done, so that they domino-ed into Derek. The one spark of insecurity Stiles had lit up at the thought of accidentally crushing or crowding Derek, especially considering he was human, so he didn’t get much closer, just took hold of Jackson’s bicep and carefully let his forehead rest against where Derek’s forearm was still over Jackson’s upper back.

“We aren’t losing him,” Derek said again, quietly. “As long as we maintain the bond, Jackson could be on the other side of the world and he would still be part of the Hale pack.”

They didn’t talk after that, but nobody else cried either. They just sat in silence, and Stiles wondered how’d he’d gone from never wanting Jackson in spitting distance of himself, to choking on the lump in his throat at the thought of Jackson being too far away to pull into a too-tight hug.

* * *

Jackson’s parents worked fast, and the pack only had _hours_ before he had to get on the plane. When he’d run to Derek’s he’d at least had his phone on him, and the texts and calls started flooding in after only thirty minutes of grieving silence.

Jackson refused to go home, but relented to meeting his parents at the airport under threat of his dad reporting Derek as a kidnapper to the police.

Derek didn’t know what to do. Every instinct was screaming and clamoring for him to find a way for Jackson to stay. Fight Jackson’s parents on any level he could. Run away with what he had left of his pack and come back to get Erica and Boyd. Anything.

But instead, he buried those instincts deep, deep down, and had Isaac go get his duffel bag.

They filled it to the brim, with everything from the hoodie currently on Stiles’ back, to the sweater Derek had worn the day before, with about five of Isaac’s t-shirts as well and the blanket Derek had given Isaac that still had both their scents.

He gave Jackson his, Isaac, and Stiles’ numbers on a slip of paper he could keep with him even if his phone didn’t work. Forced him to eat leftovers from the fridge. Made him plug his phone in so it wouldn’t die.

It was tricky to actually get things done when Isaac didn’t want to let go of Jackson. It meant sending Stiles to grab things around the loft and going to get them himself while Jackson slumped into the cushions and texted Danny and Lydia to give them differing explanations of what was going on.

“What am I supposed to do about the full moon?” Jackson said eventually. He was mostly out of commission, sitting on the couch and staring at nothing. This was the first thing that was apparently strong enough to make him focus. “How am I supposed to control my shift if I’m halfway across the fucking world?”

They still didn’t know where he was going. His parents hadn’t said.

Surprisingly, Stiles was the one who answered. “You’re gonna be fine, Jackson.”

Jackson just glared at him.

“I’m serious,” Stiles responded. “You have control, and that won’t change just because you’re not with us. Besides, we’ll call you or something. Do a video chat. You won’t actually be _alone_.”

“He’s right,” Derek added, leaning against the side of the couch.

He had a hand ready to swat the back of Stiles’ head at the smug look on his face, and even though he barely tapped him, Stiles yelped theatrically.

The display finally got a snort out of Jackson. “Great, Mieszko looks bad enough in person. He’s gonna break my laptop.”

The noise Stiles made was nothing less than a squawk.

Derek didn’t respond to the sound of the door below slamming again, assuming Jackson had told Peter and he’d come to snark or scold Derek for letting Jackson share the secret. Instead, heels clicked right outside the door and it shoved open without Peter’s usual low growl of a greeting.

“This is ridiculous,” Lydia said.

Jackson jolted up to his feet, dislodging Isaac in the process. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?”

“I only gave you the address for emergencies.”

Lydia glared. “This is as close to an emergency as it gets, Jackson.”

Completely ignoring the fact that she’d just walked into an Alpha’s den without permission, along with ignoring the Alpha himself, Lydia crossed the room and pushed Jackson back down to sit before dropping onto his lap and curling around him. “Your dad is being ridiculous. He tried to chase me out of the house.”

“You went to—”

“Obviously,” she tutted. “But they wouldn’t listen to me. Especially when they found out how long I’ve known.”

They all went to the airport, Isaac, Jackson, and Lydia shoving into the backseat of the Camaro, and Stiles jumping into the front. The boys grumbled half-hearted insults at each other while they tried to pretend everything wasn’t falling apart, and Lydia sat quietly and flicked her nails together rhythmically the entire way.

Derek didn’t speak at all, because what was there to say?

How was he supposed to apologize for being so pathetic an Alpha that he couldn’t think of a way to keep his pack member beside him? This was the _third_ Beta that he would be separated from, and there weren’t any more wolves around to pop out of the woodwork and join his pack. Until they got Erica and Boyd back, Isaac would be his only wolf, and Derek would be down to two pack members total.

The bonds were all still there, but it was hard not to just start waiting for them to snap or dissipate. He knew how difficult it was to maintain a bond over long distances. It’d taken near daily calls for Laura to keep her cool while at college away from the pack. Derek knew he would try his damndest, but it wouldn’t surprise him if Jackson eventually gave up. Found another pack. An Alpha who would actually be able to protect him.

“Hey.”

Derek looked in the rearview and met Jackson’s eyes.

“You’re stuck with me, stupid. Stop looking so constipated.”

After the quiet of the loft and the dark of the road now that the sun had set, the airport was too bright, too loud, and too happy. This wasn’t a vacation, this was a banishment.

The Whittemores were waiting near one of the gates, and when they caught sight of Derek and the others, Jackson’s father tensed up. Like he thought Derek would start a fight.

He wanted to. It wouldn’t take much to get Whittemore on the ground and force him to let Jackson stay. He might not even need to shift up.

But those were Jackson’s _parents,_ and Derek wasn’t capable of putting any kind of rift between them and their son. At least, not any more than he’d already done by giving Jackson the bite.

Jackson stopped dead fifty feet away, staring at his parents and gripping Isaac’s duffel. “I can’t leave. Don’t make me leave,” he whispered.

Derek had spent enough time in human public spaces throughout the years that he knew what an “appropriate” amount of physical affection was, and for once, he didn’t care. Grabbing the back of Jackson’s neck, he dragged him in and pressed their foreheads together. “You are coming _back_ , do you understand? This isn’t permanent.”

Slowly Jackson nodded, breathing somewhat unsteadily but without the hitch from before. “You know, you’re not a bad Alpha, Alpha.”

Then he threw his arms around Derek’s shoulders. Derek squeezed him back as tightly as he could without hurting him, trying to memorize his scent and press his own into Jackson’s skin. Eventually, he had to push Jackson away. They were running out of time and if Jackson didn’t walk the rest of the way himself, his parents would drag him.

The hug with Isaac was just as tight, and then Jackson stopped in front of Stiles.

“You’re a total douchebag,” Stiles said. “Call us when you land.”

“You’re a little shit,” Jackson retorted, nodding. He dragged Stiles in for a one-armed hug and a headbutt that looked like it must’ve hurt.

After a bone-crushing hug from Lydia, he finally headed for his parents.

“Jackson!” came a shout.

Danny came bolting through the crowd and slammed into Jackson hard enough to make him stumble. While they hugged, Derek could pick up Danny’s mutters. “Did you seriously think I’d let you leave without saying goodbye?” Without letting go, he cuffed Jackson over the head.

As he pulled away, Danny bumped his temple against Jackson’s. “Don’t eat the airplane food.”

That…looked familiar.

Derek squinted at Danny, only to meet his eyes when Danny looked over at all of them. With an almost deferential nod in Derek’s direction, he let Jackson go to his parent’s side.

Jackson’s dad reached out for the duffel in Jackson’s hand, and Jackson yanked it away. About ten glances back, and then he’d finally disappeared into the crowd.

“Stiles,” Derek muttered as he put a hand on both his and Isaac’s shoulders. “You’re staying the night with Isaac.”

“I already texted my dad,” Stiles confirmed. He reached out a hand that Lydia took. “Come on, we gotta get you back to your car.”

Derek hadn’t even spoken to Lydia since that lacrosse game, and before that he’d _never_ spoken to her. Just her Peter-possessed body. She’d never come near him or shown any interest in being pack, and he didn’t blame her, since he’d tried to kill her once.

But she couldn’t be that bad, because when she climbed in the back with Stiles, letting Isaac get in the front, she patted the seats and said, “Laura had good taste, this car is beautiful.”

Apparently some amount of information from Peter had stayed in her head.

“Yeah, she did.”

And that was as close to a truce as they were ever going to get.

* * *

**Wildcat: This is like the Fourth apartment in two weeks. (Attachments: 4)**

Stiles flicked through the pictures and tried not to gape at the high ceilings of the master bedroom and the views of London skyscrapers

_So pick 1 and they’ll stop._

**Wildcat: I don’t Want to live in any of them!**

**__** _Jackass, just pick 1. The 1 with the view of the London I. U’d get ur own bathroom._

**Wildcat: I’m Not sending you a picture of the moon in the middle of the London Eye, Mieszko.**

**__** _I need it 4 my laptop bckgrnd! It wld make a perfect target!_

**Wildcat: Shut Up. You have No taste.**

**Incoming call: Definitely Robin**

Frowning, Stiles answered the call and put it on speakerphone so his hands would be free to continue cajoling Jackson. “Hey, what’s up? I said I’d be at yours at noon.”

_“Yeah, but I haven’t eaten yet. Meet me at Freddie’s in an hour?”_

“You get your mom’s car?”

Scott laughed. _“Something like that.”_

So, Stiles sent Jackson one last text and went to grab shoes.

These days, Stiles had a hard time keeping his phone in his pocket. Jackson had been a chatterbox since he got to England, Isaac was even clingier than before but with an extra dose of angry, Heather had been asking to hang out with him more often than usual, Scott was back to texting him everything and nothing at all hours of the day, and even Derek had to text him once in a while to make sure he was home for one of their, whatever it was that they were doing.

Stiles didn’t really have a good word for it, since things like “session” or “therapy” made him cringe. He wasn’t a doctor, and just because he’d spent days doing research on it didn’t mean any of it could count as legitimate therapy. But if it wasn’t that, the only reasonable comparison was just…hanging out. Like pack. Like _friends_. Which was just disturbing to think about—being friends with Derek.

Either way, Stiles’ phone was usually blowing up, which was a pretty drastic change to the last five years with just Scott and the occasional text from Heather. Keeping up with it all was an art he had yet to master.

“So they’re gonna be gone on your birthday? That sucks,” he said, twitching at the ding in his ear of an arriving text message. It was hard enough to concentrate on the road while talking on the phone, he at least had the impulse control not to check and see who it was from.

 _“It’s not too bad, actually,”_ Heather chirped. _“We’re going out the night before, and they’re still letting me have the party since Nicky’ll be in town.”_

Stiles snorted. “A party with the parents out of town? On a school night? Haven’t they figured out what a trouble-maker you are yet?”

_“Nope, you haven’t been around to snitch on me. Danielle is way better at keeping quiet about my chaos.”_

“Yeah, well Danielle hasn’t seen you fill your mom’s shampoo bottle with Nair because you read about it in a _Babysitter’s Club_ book. Your mom gave me extra dessert for like a month after I warned her about that.”

_“Whatever, you’re just as bad. Speaking of…”_

“What?”

_“You’re coming to my party, right?”_

Chewing his lip, Stiles squeezed the wheel. “I’m not sure.”

It was hard to try and explain the overprotective rules Derek had in place for them, especially about going out at night. He’d been bad enough before Jackson left, but now he was getting ridiculous, and Stiles could only be grateful that Peter hadn’t told him about their meeting in the woods because Derek would have _freaked_. Not to mention, since he’d been brought in on the search, Stiles’ own dad was joining in on the worrying. Of course, his dad wouldn’t have a problem with Heather’s party, but that still left Derek.

 _“But, Stiles, I really want you there,”_ Heather fussed, whining a little. _“Please? I know the kids’ll be from my school, but I swear it’ll be fun.”_

An idea came to mind, and Stiles hummed as though he was considering it. “I would, seriously, but…since Jackson left, Isaac’s been moping like crazy. I was gonna—”

_“Bring him!”_

Stiles smiled. “Seriously? You’ve never met my friends and I don’t know most of yours. What happened to our Romeo and Juliet thing?” They’d been making the joke for years as explanation for why they’d never really introduced each other to their friends. Somehow, Scott still knew next to nothing about Heather, and Danielle was the only person Stiles had met from Heather’s school.

_“You know Danielle!”_

“Yeah, and she’s basically your nurse, so it fits the story.”

Heather scoffed. _“I’m telling her you said that. Would you just bring him? Maybe I’ll get to see you more if we don’t have two completely different friend groups.”_

“More? I already go to your house like three times a week.”

_“Stiles!”_

Derek’s issues usually stemmed from either of them going anywhere alone, so if Stiles had Isaac with him there would be no reason to argue. Plus, Isaac needed more friends anyway.

“Alright, alright, you’ve convinced me. He’ll be my Friar Laurence.”

Pulling into Freddie’s parking lot, Stiles scanned for Melissa’s car. He was a couple minutes late, since halfway out the door he’d realized none of his chores were done, but there was no sign of Scott’s ride.

Stiles turned the car off and opened up the door slowly. “Hey, I gotta go, Heather. I’ll be offline most of the day today, you know?”

_“Right! Tell him I said happy birthday. I’ll see you at the party?”_

“Yup, we’ll be there.”

There weren’t many cars in the lot at all. Just a couple pickups and a dusty looking dirt bike parked at the front. Scott should _definitely_ have been here before now. If the Alphas were finally coming after the rest of them, Scott wouldn’t be able to defend himself alone. Turning slowly, Stiles re-opened the dialpad on his phone, ready to call for help.

“Hey!”

Stiles shouted and slammed back against the Jeep, his heart in his throat. “Scott-othy McCall, you giant ass!” he heaved. “Do _not_ sneak up on me like that.”

Scott just grinned at him. “We’re going to a party?”

His heart was still trying to escape through his mouth, but Stiles panted out a, “Huh?”

“I heard you on the phone. Whose party are we going to?”

Oh shit.

Mentally apologizing to Isaac, though he hadn’t even told him about it, Stiles waved a hand before shoving it in his pocket. “Uh, Heather’s. She turns seventeen in a couple weeks and she wanted us to come.” Technically, Stiles still wouldn’t be going to the party alone if he brought Scott instead of Isaac, so he should be safe from Derek’s helicoptering.

Shrugging, Scott nudged Stiles toward the building. “Sounds good, man.”

“So, how’d you get here? I thought your mom worked today?”

“I drove.”

Stiles twirled around to check the lot again. “Drove what, your car’s not here. Did you park it down the block or something?”

Scott shook his head and grabbed Stiles' jacket, tugging him off course from the door. “No, dude.” Stopping next to the dirtbike, he held out his hands. “What do you think?”

“I think someone’s about to get their license suspended?” Stiles sighed. “Seriously, where’s the car?”

“Stiles, this is the car.” Scott gestured again. “The bike. It’s mine.”

At second glance, Stiles wasn’t surprised in the least. Still, he couldn’t help squinting down at it. “Uh, what happened to the motorcycle?”

Scott slung one leg over the bike and sat on it. “It was majorly expensive and the guy said it needed a bunch of work done on it. This was up for auction at like half the price, and it works perfectly. Pretty cool, right?”

Nodding, Stiles responded, “So, you’re using the rest of that money to make it legal, right?”

The beaming smile on Scott’s face fell a little. “What?”

Stiles twitched. “Scott, you realize this is like completely illegal to drive, right? Dirtbikes can’t be driven on city streets without serious modification and registration.”

“Like anybody’ll notice,” Scott laughed. “I’m starving, let’s get inside.”

Birthday tradition for the two of them was simple, since they didn’t have enough other friends for parties. Food at Freddie’s or at a drive-thru, and then wandering. There was a little twinge of guilt at skirting Derek’s requests not to go anywhere unfamiliar, and a little more at turning the volume on his phone off, but Stiles had Scott for protection and after whining about Scott staring at his phone all the time, Stiles wasn’t interested in being a hypocrite.

So, with full stomachs and their vehicles left in the parking lot, they walked through what was left of downtown. They went into most of the shops, just to look around and laugh at cheesy paintings in the art store or the puns embroidered into pillows at the tailor’s. Scott wanted to spend a weird amount of time in the book store, but Stiles found a couple novels on sale, so he wasn’t going to complain. Gifting things to Isaac was as easy as buying it for himself and leaving it in an open space that Isaac had access to.

The only rule Scott imposed as birthday boy was “No Wolves.” They didn’t talk about the bite, or about werewolves in general. They didn’t even acknowledge that Scott _was_ one, which led to a pretty serious headache on his part when he insisted on looking around the hippie shop and sniffed too many incense sticks.

After spending all the cash in their pockets on random trinkets and talking shit about pretty much everyone in their grade, they headed back to Scott’s place.

It was only once they got there and turned on Scott’s freshly rented copy of _Captain America_ , that Stiles finally checked his messages, going through one contact at a time.

**Wildcat: I told them I wanted the place.**

**Wildcat: Hey, answer your Phone.**

**Wildcat: You are in So much Trouble.**

**Flash: When?? did you say you’d be going dark for the day???**

**Flash: …I assume now, since you won’t answer…**

**Flash: Hey, I know you’re with McCall, but you should probably answer Derek??**

**Flash: Mieszko!! Seriously!!**

**Peter Pan: Stiles, do you have those blankets ready for sending to Jackson?**

**Peter Pan: ?**

**Peter Pan: Isaac said you’re with Scott. Just confirm you’re fine.**

**Peter Pan: Why is your Jeep outside a restaurant without you? Stiles, answer.**

**Peter Pan: Stiles!**

**Constantine: You are very lucky that I just saw you downtown. Call your Alpha.**

“Shit, shit,” Stiles jumped to his feet, startling Scott. “I’ll be right back.”

Scott frowned at him, a handful of popcorn halfway to his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” he reassured. “I just gotta go appease an overprotective ass.”

It was sharper than he’d meant it, but Scott didn’t respond except to shrug, so Stiles didn’t reword the thought and just walked up to Scott’s bedroom, only dialing Derek’s number once he was in with the door shut. He was sick of being listened in on by wolves.

It rang exactly once. Not a good sign.

_“You’re so screw—”_

Isaac’s voice cut off, replaced by a familiar growl. _“What is wrong with you?”_

Stiles put a hand out to hold back Derek’s long-distance fury. “I’m fine, everything’s fine!”

 _“I know that. You’re an idiot,”_ Derek snapped. _“You don’t get to just disappear.”_

His mouth twisting into a grimace, Stiles lost some of his urge to apologize. “Dude, everything was fine. I was just hanging out, and I didn’t want to be checking my phone every ten seconds.”

_“You were missing, Stiles! I found your car abandoned at a restaurant with no sign of you.”_

“No, I wasn’t. I was with Scott. If you were that worried why didn’t you call him?”

Derek was quiet for a moment. _“You think I didn’t? His phone is off. Just like last time he disappeared.”_

Immediately, the guilt came rushing back. Stiles had been pissed when he couldn’t get a hold of Scott for a day, and that was before they’d known Peter was after him specifically. Now, they _knew_ the Alphas wanted Derek’s pack and Stiles hadn’t considered what it would look like to leave his Jeep somewhere while they walked around.

“Look, I’m—” Stiles bit his lip, “I’m fine, man. I just had my phone on silent.”

_“Check your messages once in a while.”_

“Yeah, got it.”

Derek hung up, and Stiles groaned as he exited the call. Probably not a good idea to freak out the guy who was trying to keep him from getting kidnapped by Alphas.

**Flash: I haven’t seen him that freaked since Jackson got on the plane...while we were waiting for him to let us know where he went??? Don’t do that again!!**

Making his way downstairs, Stiles sent a couple texts out to reassure Jackson and Isaac that he was good, then left the volume on vibrate so he would at least know if he got another influx of messages. Scott hadn’t moved, but he’d made his way through a surprising amount of popcorn.

“Your dad okay?” he asked, starting the movie up again.

Stiles’ brows furrowed as he dropped onto the couch and grabbed a handful of buttery goodness. “Yeah? He’s at work until like nine. Why?”

“I mean, we both know he worries too much.” Scott shrugged. “Just glad he’s not freaking out.”

“Oh, shit, good point.” Stiles pulled his phone out and sent a text to his dad to check on him too.

If Derek had really started panicking, he would have told Stiles’ dad, but since there weren’t any missed messages from him it was a good bet that Peter had seen Stiles before it got to that point. Still, their “no lying” rule was going so well, he was loath to mess it up.

When he was done, Stiles settled into his spot and tried to push the rest of it away. Tonight was his night to hang with Scott. To pretend things were normal again, whatever that meant.

* * *

Mere days before the start of the new school year, and the end of Derek’s deadline for finding Erica and Boyd without Scott’s help, the sheriff pulled through. The text came from Stiles in a mess of shorthand and exclamation points, and it sent Derek practically running from the grocery store and slamming into his SUV.

In a last ditch effort to convince both Isaac and himself that he was confident they were getting their pack back soon, he’d bought a new car. Something big enough to carry everyone, at least until Jackson _eventually_ came back. SUV’s were normally hunter vehicles, in Derek’s experience, but there weren’t any hunters left in town. Peter had taken one look at it and started laughing, but Derek couldn’t deny it was easier to get groceries out of, since he didn’t have to push any seats back.

The lot was surprisingly full when he pulled up to the building. Stiles’ Jeep was there, along with the sheriff’s cruiser, and Peter’s little black Honda. 

That could be bad.

But there were no gunshots from the loft, so he forced himself to grab a few bags and carry them in. Isaac pushed the door open before he got to it, already amped to hell.

“Sheriff says he’s got something for us, hurry up!” he rushed.

Derek raised a brow at him. “Go get the rest.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’ll start putting these away.”

The process of putting away groceries was the only thing keeping him steady, so Derek didn’t do much more than glance the sheriff’s way as he entered the loft. “Sheriff.” He was sitting on the arm of the couch while Stiles vibrated out of his skin on the cushion beside him. Thankfully, Peter was standing in the kitchen and didn’t look to be causing any trouble.

Derek held up a bag. “Stiles, come help.”

“You have no sense of urgency, do you know that?” Stiles fussed, even as he jumped to his feet and came over to grab something to put away. He spent so much time in the loft, he knew where everything went anyway.

“If it was that urgent, you would have called me,” Derek pointed out. He was doing his damndest not to get his hopes up, why did everyone else have to fight him about it?

Isaac showed up a few seconds later, arms laden with the rest of the groceries. Derek was reasonably sure the carton of eggs he’d bought was broken. “Okay, now talk,” he said to the sheriff.

Before they could get started, Derek held up a hand in Isaac’s direction. “Did you lock the car?”

The huff of annoyance was almost calming, considering the situation. “ _Yes_ , Derek. Can we hear the news now?”

Moving his hand toward the sheriff, Derek made a, “Go ahead,” gesture.

Noah chuckled, but got up and pulled a pad of paper from his pocket. “I have something, but I don’t know if it’s exactly what you’re looking for.”

“At this point, we’re looking for anything,” Derek admitted. “What’ve you got?”

“I’ve got sightings.” Noah opened up the notepad. “This Ennis guy you mentioned is here, in town. Since he isn’t wanted or even in the system, I couldn’t pull anything but his license, but with a little bit of questioning, we’ve got multiple sightings of someone matching his description in the area.”

Stiles paused what he was doing, a gallon of milk in his hand. “What area?”

“This one. The warehouse district. Or at least at the edges of it. I’ve got uh,” He glanced down at the page and lifted it to peer underneath. “One near the gas station down on 27th, another at the flower shop, and—”

“You hit up Mrs. Cleery for information?” Stiles asked.

Noah shrugged. “Sometimes nosy neighbors can be helpful. That reminds me, you’re mowing her lawn for the next two months.”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. “Okay, just, hold on.” Shoving the milk into the fridge, he went over to look at his dad’s paper. “I need a map.”

Peter was the one to raise a hand. “I’ve got one in my car.”

“Get it.” Derek abandoned his own bag of food and went over to the table in front of the window. Normally, it was covered in books or random laptop accessories Isaac forgot to bring back to his room, but as luck would have it, he’d made Isaac clear it off the night before.

The map Peter returned with was simple, but it covered the whole town and the street labels were accurate, which was all that mattered. Piece by piece, Noah and Stiles marked out the meager sightings of not only Ennis, but possibly Callie. The X’s made a large semi-circle around the same district the loft was in, if on the other side.

“So, what?” Derek mused, tracing the curve. “They’re trying to circle us?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, it looks like—” snatching the pencil from his dad’s fingers, he drew a couple wobbly lines between the two ends, connecting them to creating a pie slice of the district. “Right?”

“That would make sense,” Peter added, stepping up to the table. “There are almost no open businesses left in this area. If they needed supplies they would have to go to the next district over to get them.”

Isaac pushed his way between Stiles and Peter and planted his hand over the shape they’d drawn out. “So, wherever they’re staying is somewhere in here?”

“Right under our noses.” They’d been looking in the wrong places for weeks because Derek had been _sure_ the Alphas wouldn’t dare get so close. This was a couple miles away, at most.

“How long would it take for you to search that?” Stiles asked, not taking his eyes off the map.

The intent behind the question was clear; how much longer until they had Erica and Boyd back?

It was a big area, but there were three of them to search, now that Isaac had reached a point where Derek felt comfortable letting him at least run recon. They could do this in almost no time at all, compared to searching the Preserve.

Peter crossed his arms and smiled. “About forty-eight hours should be enough time, don’t you think, Derek?”

“Definitely.”

They were getting their pack back in two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're HERE. We're QUEER. We're having one HELL of a year, and now the fic is over and I'm putting you all back into existential waiting mode for the next season.
> 
> Bruh, I don't know how to tell you this, but writing is _hard_. I'm obviously having a blast working on S3A at the moment, but that doesn't mean that it isn't going to take a really long damn time for me to finish it. I'm afraid my usual three month hiatus isn't going to cut it, with how long these chapters are becoming and how much extra research needs to go into each one.  
> Instead, I'm going to give myself _ample_ time to finish this and start on the next season (hopefully). Unfortunately this means an _extremely_ long wait for you, but I think you'll all manage it and hopefully you'll like the end result!
> 
> The current scheduled posting date for the next installment of A New Perspective, is **October, 02, 2021**. This is, of course, subject to change (probably not shortening, but possibly lengthening), but put that date on your calendar until otherwise stated. Said statements can be found either by looking at this fic again periodically (i'll edit the note if the date changes) or by following my [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/) where i'll surely be posting if there are any updates to what's going on, OR, a new option: Join my [Shitty Lil Sterek Discord Server](https://discord.gg/GJj3VEhPwS). I've got an entire channel that's specifically for talking about this series, including some Super Special Secret Spoilers along the way. (Not too many though. XD)
> 
> Working on this has been absolutely amazing, and while the lack of input from canon over what occurred during these missing four months is aggravating, it was a lot of fun to have so much freedom with what was going to happen, to not have to stick to anything but the most bare bones of skeleton plotlines, and to be able to give them a sort of rest before everything that we know is coming in the future (and a few things we don't). Thank you so much for the wonderful and insightful comments and kudos and all the love you've given this series, people keep telling me when they started reading, or that they chose to _reread_ the whole damn thing, and it's so heartwarming. It means _so_ much. <3
> 
> Lastly, I wanna give another HUGE shoutout to my _amazing_ Beta [M](https://stilesissokka.tumblr.com/) for the wonderful help with working out plotlines and trouble spots, right down to choosing specific details for character profiles, and to the beautiful [Madeline](https://natural-singularity.tumblr.com/) for readthroughs, inspiration, and motivation through the entire process, AND for the wonderful banners she's made for each of the installments in the series so far.
> 
> That's enough chatter for now. I'll see you all in October, for Season 3A. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Since this work is finished, chapters will be posted once a week on Thursdays (my time).
> 
> Important Notes:  
> -An Em Dash (Double hyphen) dictates a change in day, while a page break line indicates a change in POV.  
> -Full moons in this rewrite are 31 days apart, not 30.
> 
> If you're interested in hanging out, feel free to head to my [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/) where I freak out about these two 24/7, and where I post important updates about the fic that I can't put on ao3.


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